THE  RED  MOON 


THE    RED   MOON 


BY 

MRS.  EUGENIE  JONES-BACON 


NEW  YORK   AND  WASHINGTON 

THE  NEALE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
THE  NEALE   PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


The  sweetest  gifts  of  God  to  a  woman, 
a  husband  and  a  child. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  WOMAN'S  DREAM 9 

II.  1860   TO    1865 26 

III.  ALICE   GREY 34 

IV.  THE    SHIPWRECK 49 

V.  A  WOMAN'S  Vow 60 

VI.  ALBINA'S  FOURTH  TRIAL 71 

VII.  ALBINA'S  FAITH  AWAKENS        ....  76 

VIII.  THE  ABDUCTION 96 

IX.  WALLIS 101 

X.  MEMORY    REFRESHED 114 

XI.  HOPE  AND   FEAR 125 

XII.  THE  RED  MOON  GOES  DOWN        ...  131 

XIII.  AT  THE   DOCKS    .    .      .__i_^_  ...  138 

XIV.  THE    REUNION  145 


THE   RED  MOON 

CHAPTER    I 

A  WOMAN'S  DREAM 
"  You  may  live  the  religion  you  cannot  talk." 

"  STOP  teasing,  Dolly,  I'm  in  earnest.  Will  you 
marry  me  ?  " 

A  roguish  merriment  plays  about  Dolly's  lips. 
"  Marry  you,  Jonah?  What  have  you  to  offer  a 
young  woman  with  lofty  ideas,  and  unnumbered 
desires  for  the  future?  Your  farm  is  encumbered 
with  a  heavy  mortgage,  and  your  purse  empty;  can 
you  expect  me  to  cast  my  lot  with  yours  before 
you  have  made  a  fresh  start  in  life?  " 

Remorse  burns  in  Jonah's  heart,  for  he  is  con- 
scious that  he  has  sown  a  plentiful  crop  of  wild 
oats,  and  that  the  yield  is  one  of  disappointment 
and  poverty;  but,  to  be  told  these  plain  facts  by 
the  girl  he  loves,  and  wishes  to  make  his  wife,  is 
hard  to  endure,  and  a  hot  flush  mounts  to  his 
cheeks. 

But  love  knows  no  defeat,  and  presently  Jonah 
finds  fresh  courage. 


10 

"  Sweetheart,  every  word  you  say  is  true,  but 
sometimes  adversity  rouses  a  fellow — brings  him  to 
his  senses.  Will  you  marry  me  and  go  West  with 
me?  I'll  dig  for  gold,  and  more  than  likely  pan 
out  a  round  million.  Will  that  supply  your  needs  ?  " 

Dolly  touches  lightly  her  lover's  forehead,  and 
replies  gravely :  "  You  have  caught  the  Western 
fever,  have  you?  Your  temples  are  burning  hot. 
All  right,  go  dig  with  a  shovel  and  pick  in  the 
gold  fields,  then  come  to  me  and  I  will  give  you 
my  answer." 

Impulsively  Jonah  clasps  Dolly's  hand  and  draws 
her  to  his  side.  "  Sweetheart,  I'd  dig  with  joy, 
day  and  night,  to  win  your  love."  Then  the  vigor 
of  hope  thrills  his  .soul,  and  he  kisses  her. 

Dolly's  head  sinks  upon  her  lover's  shoulder, 
every  vestige  of  merriment  gone  from  her  face.  A 
new  color  suddenly  flashes  its  glow  of  hope  over 
the  outlook  of  her  life,  as  she  realizes  the  vitalizing 
power  of  love.  The  dark  clouds  of  poverty  turn 
to  a  roseate  hue  with  Jonah  as  her  avowed  lover. 
If  love  binds  their  hearts  together,  what  trials  can 
they  not  endure!  Jonah,  too,  forgets  his  poverty. 
Dolly's  heart  beats  close  beside  his,  and  his  bronzed 
face  touches  her  pink  cheeks.  What  cares  he  for 
money  ? 

"  Sweetheart,  will  you  marry  me?  Say  yes,  and 
I  will  yoke  my  oxen,  make  my  covered  wagon  a 


A    WOMAN'S    DREAM  11 

house  on  wheels,  and  we  will  start  for  the  gold  fields 
of  the  Pacific  Coast.  Hundreds  as  poor  as  I  am 
are  already  on  the  Western  trail.  Let  us  join  the 
hopeful  crowd." 

The  compact  is  sealed  with  a  kiss,  and  the  wed- 
ding day  finally  fixed  for  a  day  in  early  spring. 

When  the  birds  are  mating,  Dorothy  Albina  Allen 
stands  before  the  altar  of  God  with  a  rosebud  in 
her  hand  and  promises  to  love,  honor,  and  obey 
Jonah  Baxter.  He  vows,  "  With  all  my  worldly 
goods  I  thee  endow,"  knowing  himself  to  be  poverty- 
stricken. 

Cheered  with  the  good  wishes  of  friends,  and  in 
a  shower  of  rice,  the  newly  married  couple  leave 
Dayton,  Ohio.  The  horns  of  Buck  and  Dock  are 
adorned  with  old  slippers,  and  there  is  a  broad  band 
of  white  ribbon  tied  across  the  covered  wagon.  This 
improvised  home  on  wheels  shows  the  skilful  touch 
of  a  woman's  hand.  A  barrel  of  cornmeal,  and 
sacks  of  flour,  share  the  corners  with  a  medley  of 
the  small  articles  needed  on  a  long  and  wearisome 
overland  journey.  On  the  sides  hang  a  good  store 
of  smoked  bacon,  and  sun-dried  beef,  called,  in 
country  parlance,  "jerked  meat";  and  the  cooking 
stove  and  bird  cage  are  in  close  touch. 

Dolly  is  fond  of  pets,  and  sees  with  pleasure  that 
her  yellow  cat  and  Jonah's  fox  terrier  are  cuddled 
together,  on  the  foot  of  the  mattress. 


2136390 


12  THE    RED    MOON 

Neither  Jonah  nor  his  bride  realize  the  tedium 
of  the  journey  they  are  to  take,  with  slow-moving 
oxen  as  their  only  means  of  locomotion.  Happily, 
in  the  hearts  of  the  young  there  pulsates  a  well- 
spring  of  expectation,  and  in  the  first  days  of  love 
a  silvery  glow  transforms  commonplace  things,  ob- 
literating the  dark  forebodings  and  shadows  that 
sometimes  mar  life's  outlook. 

Jonah  and  his  wife  are  determined  to  master  fate, 
and  with  hope  and  health  to  brace  their  resolve 
they  are  confident  of  success  in  the  gold  fields. 

It  was  in  1849  that  the  country  went  mad  over 
the  discovery  of  gold  in  the  far  West.  Numbers 
of  Eastern  men  left  homes,  and  in  their  desire  to 
dig  for  gold  they  gave  little  thought  to  the  pros- 
pect of  midnight  attacks  of  Indians.  Not  yet  had 
the  Western  plains  with  their  bleaching  human 
bones  given  clear  proof  of  the  deadly  vengeance 
of  the  Red  Man  resenting  the  encroachment  of 
others  upon  his  happy  hunting  grounds. 

With  a  woman's  instinct,  Dolly  realizes  that  the 
time  to  train  a  husband  to  suit  oneself  is  in  the 
early  days  of  married  life,  before  love  becomes  an 
old  story  and  subsides.  Bravely,  then,  in  everyday 
occurrences,  she  uses  the  hammer  upon  the  forge  of 
her  husband's  life,  and  molds  while  the  iron  is 
malleable.  She  has  an  abiding  belief  in  the  prom- 
ises contained  in  the  leaves  of  her  father's  well-worn 


13 

Bible.  He  was  a  Scotch  clergyman,  often  preached 
of  hell  and  hell-fire;  and  underlined  his  favorite 
texts ;  one  of  which  reads,  "  Ye  shall  be  tormented 
with  fire  and  brimstone  in  the  presence  of  the  Holy 
Angels." 

Well  grounded  in  Scriptural  doctrines,  Dolly  has 
developed  decided  ideas,  and  now  insists  that  both 
man  and  beast  must  rest  on  the  seventh  day.  Jonah 
protests,  but  finally  yields.  On  Sunday,  then,  the 
oxen  are  tethered  beside  the  road.  Dolly  rises  early 
to  make  coffee,  and  on  an  improvised  camp  table 
spreads  the  breakfast.  Dressed  in  their  "  Sunday- 
go-to-meeting  "  clothes,  Dolly  reads  aloud  from  her 
father's  Bible,  often  interrupted  by  Jonah's  com- 
ments. 

"  Sweetheart,  old  Solomon  must  have  had  you  in 
mind  when  he  wrote  those  Proverbs,  and  King  Lem- 
uel describes  you  to  a  tee,  when  he  says,  '  There 
are  many  daughters  (who)  have  done  virtuously, 
but  thou  excellest  them  all.'  Read  that  verse  again, 
'  Her  husband  is  known  in  the  gates,  when  he  sitteth 
among  the  elders  of  the  land.'  I  say,  sweetheart, 
these  white  -shirts  washed  and  ironed  by  you  beside 
the  campfire,  make  a  man  feel  worthy  to  sit  in 
the  gate  of  any  city  alongside  the  mighty  men  of 
the  land." 

A  merry  laugh  indicates  how  pleased  Dolly  feels 
over  this  compliment.  Callous  indeed  is  the  woman 


14  THE    RED    MOON 

who  is  not  stronger  and  more  hopeful  for  words  of 
commendation  from  her  husband. 

Time  wears  on,  with  its  routine  of  daily  duties. 
Fortunately  each  new  experience  has  its  joys  and 
pleasures,  as  well  as  its  hours  of  depression ;  and 
the  young  heed  not  the  shadows  on  life's  pathway 
until  the  revolving  lamp  of  fate  turns  its  hooded 
side  to  them. 

The  grey  mists  gradually  overshadow  Jonah's 
hopes. 

"  Dolly,  we  have  jogged  along  with  these  oxen 
for  months  and  are  not  yet  near  the  Pacific  Coast. 
Where  are  the  crowds  going  West?  The  few  we 
have  met,  like  myself,  are  ready  to  wheel  about  and 
go  back.  Sweetheart,  if  one-half  the  stories  be  true 
of  the  richness  of  gold  fields  in  California,  every 
mother's  son  in  America  would  be  on  this  overland 
trail.  Shall  we  go  back?"  Dolly  is  silent.  She 
reaches  for  her  father's  Bible,  and,  caressing  it, 
says:  "Father  often  found  a  solution  for  his  per- 
plexities within  these  pages.  Why  can't  we  do  the 
same?  Let  us  select  a  verse  and  see  if  it  will  shed 
light  on  our  plans,  for  I  am  not  able  to  advise 
you." 

Jonah  shouts  to  his  oxen :  "  Whoa,  Buck ! 
Whoa,  Dock !  "  With  merriment  in  his  voice,  he 
replies,  "  Dolly,  you  know  every  word  of  the  Bible 
from  cover  to  cover.  If  our  future  plans  are  to  be 


A    WOMAN'S    DREAM  15 

decided  by  a  verse,  let  chance  have  a  showing,  not 
your  familiarity  with  the  Scripture." 

"  I'm  willing  to  leave  the  selection  to  chance. 
Blindfold  me,  then,  while  I  point  out  a  verse." 

With  her  eyes  tightly  blindfolded  and  the  Bible 
closed,  Dolly  gently  opens  the  Book,  and  places  her 
finger  midway  of  a  page. 

"  Read  that  verse,  Jonah." 

With  emphasis  he  begins :  "  No  man  having  put 
his  hands  to  the  plough —  His  voice  quivers 

slightly,  but  his  wife  encourages  him,  and  he  starts 
afresh.  "  No  man  having  put  his  hands  to  the 
plough,  and  looking  back,  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven."  They  are  both  awed  into  silence.  Jonah 
whispers :  "  Dolly,  that  test  has  been  squarely  and 
fairly  done.  God  surely  is  your  guide,  and  from 
hence  He  shall  be  mine." 

"  No  lane  is  .so  long  but  that  it  has  its  turn- 
ing." In  time  they  reach  the  Western  coast,  and 
there  they  find  a  wilderness  of  golden-tinted  poppies 
growing  in  wild  confusion  on  the  sandy  cliffs  that 
overhang  the  sea,  its  water  glistening  like  liquid 
diamonds  canopied  by  a  turquoise  sky.  Jonah  loses 
no  time  in  staking  his  claims,  and  builds  himself  an 
adobe  cabin.  He  believes  the  little  town  may  yet 
become  a  mighty  city,  like  Rome,  built  on  the  slope 
of  many  hills,  with  long  reaches  of  land  beyond. 

Each  country  has  certain  advantages  and  disad- 


16  THE    RED    MOON 

vantages,  and  it  is  not  long  before  the  once  hope- 
ful Jonah  begins  to  emphasize  the  disappointment  he 
feels  in  his  new  home  in  the  West. 

"  I  say,  Dolly,  we  have  reached  the  Pacific  Coast 
only  to  be  choked  to  death  with  sea  sand, — sea  sand, 
with  not  an  atom  of  gold  dust  in  it.  It  blows 
into  my  eyes,  goes  down  my  back,  and  covers  me 
with  grit.  I'm  ready  to  start  East.  Are  you?  " 

Dolly  has  always  tried  to  cheer  her  husband,  but 
she,  too,  is  discouraged.  No  sooner  has  she  tidied 
her  little  cottage,  washed  and  polished  her  dishes, 
than  a  gust  of  wind  blows  the  sand  over  every- 
thing. Rain  has  not  fallen  for  six  months,  the 
earth  is  dry,  and  yet,  at  every  doorstep,  flowers 
bloom  and  vegetation  flourishes.  Flowers  are  per- 
ennial in  California. 

Jonah  is  in  despair.  "  Come,  Dolly,  select  an- 
other verse  and  decide  if  we  shall  go  East,  or  stay 
here  and  starve  on  sea  sand.  Don't  tell  me  to  wait 
and  be  patient.  Without  rain  this  country  may 
blossom  like  the  Garden  of  Eden,  but  I'm  not  happy. 
I  did  not  endure  that  long  overland  journey  for 
the  fun  of  picking  flowers.  I  came  to  dig  for  gold, 
but  it's  only  worthless  sea  sand  I  find." 

Dolly's  voice,  always  merry  with  laughter,  is  sub- 
dued; she  folds  a  small  garment,  quite  finished  now, 
and  brushing  the  grit  from  her  dress  says :  "  Do 
you  believe  in  dreams,  Jonah?" 


A   WOMAN'S    DREAM  17 

"I  reckon  I  do,  if  they  happen  to  suit  me." 

"  You  know,  dear,"  continues  Dolly,  "  the  old 
prophets  were  dreamers  of  dreams.  Father  Allen 
believed  a  dream  dreamed  three  times,  and  told  to 
the  one  you  loved  best  in  the  world,  would  insure 
its  realization." 

Jonah  makes  no  reply,  but  clinches  his  pipe-stem 
with  a  firm  grip,  and  in  lieu  of  more  profitable  em- 
ployment, whittles  a  stick.  Every  aspect  of  his  life 
reveals  a  dismal  failure,  leaving  him  without  faith 
or  hope  for  the  future. 

His  wife,  too,  is  losing  her  buoyancy.  She  is 
far  from  home  and  home-ties  with  many  daily  duties 
taxing  her  failing  strength.  One  sweet  picture, 
however,  remains  in  her  mind — the  hour  when,  with 
joyous  expectations,  she  walked  to  the  altar  with  a 
rosebud  in  her  hand,  and  a  well-spring  of  love  in 
her  heart.  She  constantly  reverts  to  her  dream, 
dreamed  three  times,  and  now  she  will  tell  it  to 
Jonah,,  the  one  she  loves  best. 

"  I  do  not  deserve  to  be  loved,  Dolly,  I,  with  only 
bad  luck  dragging  me  down." 

Dolly  looks  up  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes,  and 
a  remnant  of  her  coquettish  smile.  "  We  married 
for  richer  or  for  poorer,  and  so  must  meet  the 
days  as  they  come,  must  we  not?  " 

"  It's  for  poorer,  sweetheart.  True,  I  have  the 
best  wife  God  ever  gave  a  man,  and  if  only  I  can 


18  THE    RED    MOON 

make  money,  she  shall  dress  in  silks  and  satins. 
Thank  God,  we  have  peace  in  our  home,  and  some- 
times, Dolly,  you  do  smile  your  courtship  smile,  which 
gives  me  strength  to  bear  my  trials." 

But  Dolly  is  in  a  contemplative  mood. 

"  Jonah,  I  care  nothing  for  silks  and  satins.  I 
prefer  to  use  money  to  lighten  the  burden  of  the 
oppressed,  to  comfort  the  widow  and  orphan.  There 
are  many  ways  that  I  could  use  gold  coin,"  and  a 
far-away  look  overspreads  her  face. 

"  Wife,  you  are  dreaming  with  your  eyes  wide 
open.  Wake  up,  and  tell  me  what  you  discovered 
in  your  vision.  Was  it  gold  nuggets?  I'm  ready 
to  dig,  if  I  can  dig  to  some  purpose." 

"  My  vision  did  not  locate  a  gold  mine  for  you, 
but  I  dreamed  you  amassed  a  fortune  by  the  aid 
of  a  sand  shovel.  Be  patient,"  and  she  motions  him 
to  be  seated.  "  If  this  new  town  could  be  relieved 
of  the  accumulation  of  sand  washed  ashore  by  the  in- 
coming tides  of  ages,  there  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind 
it  would  become  the  garden  spot  of  America.  Now, 
then,  I  dreamed  that  with  a  large  sand  shovel  you 
scraped  away  this  unstable  sea  sand,  making  your 
land  saleable  in  lots  and  -so  filled  your  pockets  with 
gold  coin,  and  not  with  gold  dust." 

Jonah  jumps  to  his  feet.  "  This  is  a  gigantic 
task!  By  the  shade  of  George  Washington,  what 
a  difficult  bit  of  work!  Sweetheart,  I'd  need  two 


A   WOMAN'S    DREAM  19 

lives  to  finish  this  unending  job.  A  whale  might 
gulp  up  tons  of  sea  sand  and  spue  them  into  the 
sea,  but  imagine  me  shoveling  sand  under  the  rays 
of  this  tropical  sun !  I'd  need  a  quick- growing  vine 
to  shield  me,  and  ravens  to  feed  me."  He  strides 
nervously  up  and  down.  "  The  very  mention  of 
food  makes  me  realize  our  barrel  of  meal  is  ex- 
hausted, and  the  cruse  of  oil  empty.  How  can  I 
refill  them?  Not  by  shoveling  sand.  It's  all  right 
to  have  faith  in  the  Bible,  and  dreams,  but  a  fellow 
must  be  practical  to  succeed.  Must  he  not?" 

Dolly  busies  herself  making  a  drawing  of  the 
mammoth  sand  shovel,  while  Jonah  .sits  inertly  by. 
A  gust  of  wind  covers  him  with  sand. 

"  Confound  it !  This  pestiferous  grit  coats  my 
tongue,  blinds  my  eyes,  and  chokes  me.  I'm  ready 
to  shovel  dirt,  anything  to  be  rid  of  the  nuisance." 

Dolly  has  finished  her  drawing  and  explains  how 
easily  the  sand  can  be  removed. 

The  dark  side  of  life's  lantern  now  revolves,  and 
the  gloomy  outlook  changes  to  a  bright  glow  of 
hope,  while  Jonah  toils  day  by  day  with  Buck  and 
Dock  drawing  his  sand  shovel.  Jeeringly,  men 
ask  when  he  will  dig  a  new  sea?  Their  idle  taunt 
has  no  effect,  for  there  is  light  ahead  for  Jonah. 

One  success,  one  joy  never  satisfies  us.  We  are 
ever  seeking  something  else,  anticipating,  perhaps, 
a  trial,  or  a  sorrow. 


20  THE    RED    MOON 

Jonah  does  make  money  with  his  new  device,  but 
he  is  not  content,  and  seeks  a  new  field  of  thought. 
Standing  beside  his  wife  he  asks : 

"Dolly,  if  I  die,  will  you  marry  again?  Will 
you  share  my  hard-earned  gold  with  some  fellow 
eager  to  live  in  idleness?  Your  Bible  you  love  so 
well  advocates  a  woman's  marrying  seven  times,  but 
I'd  rise  from  my  grave  and  choke  the  man  who 
dared  kiss  your  lips.'* 

Dolly  laughs  at  the  very  thought,  but  her  voice 
is  sad  as  she  replies :  "  We  intuitively  shrink  from 
burdens  that  we  have  borne  day  by  day.  Married 
women  find  it  a  difficult  task  to  train  one  man  to 
suit  their  exalted  ideas,  so  then,  if  our  young  day- 
dreams of  happiness  with  the  man  of  our  choice 
turn  to  sorrow,  and  he  dies,  remember  it  adds  new 
care  to  one's  life  to  train  another  husband.  Pray 
do  not  fear  that  your  chair  beside  the  hearthstone 
will  ever  be  filled  by  anyone  else."  A  roguish 
merriment  dances  about  her  deep-set  brown  eyes. 
"  When  I  married  you,  Jonah,  life  was  a  mystery 
to  me.  I  believed  the  sun  would  never  go  below  the 
horizon,  but  alway  envelop  me  in  its  soft  rays.  I 
pictured  my  pathway  strewn  with  roses."  She 
plucks  a  rosebud  from  the  vine  overhead.  "  That 
delusion  is  over.  I  have  grown  wise  as  I  steam 
over  the  kitchen  fire,  or  bend  over  the  washtub. 
However,  when  the  day's  work  is  finished  and  you 


A   WOMAN'S   DREAM  21 

sit  beside  me,  I  forget  the  toil,  and  am  quite  con- 
tent and  happy.     Are  you,  Jonah?  " 

Recalling  the  hard  trials  his  wife  has  endured, 
Jonah's  heart  is  too  full  for  words.  He  passes  his 
hand  over  his  eyes  to  shut  out  this  mental  vision, 
and  resolves  to  double  his  energy  in  shovelling  sea 
sand  with  his  mammoth  sand  shovel. 

The  shifting  sands  of  San  Francisco  were  really 
removed  by  just  such  an  invention.  Like  the  fabled 
giant,  San  Francisco  continues  to  make  rapid  prog- 
ress, and  no  lovelier  place  can  be  found  than  the 
city  at  the  Golden  Gate  of  the  Pacific;  where  in 
1579  Sir  Francis  Drake  proposed  to  his  sea  cap- 
tain that  a  religious  service  be  held  in  grateful 
acknowledgment  for  God's  protection  during  their 
first  voyage  around  the  world. 

It  is  in  San  Francisco  that  Jonah  and  his  wife 
are  now  settled,  and  where  a  wee  brown-eyed  girl, 
named  Albina  Allen,  comes  to  enliven  the  home,  a 
tiny  rosebud  to  develop  within  the  walls  of  the  rude 
cabin.  Jonah  fears  to  touch  the  fairy-like  creature, 
lest  it,  too,  vanish  from  sight,  as  did  his  early 
dreams  of  wealth. 

In  the  West  the  Indians  call  white  children 
"  snow  babies,"  and  now,  gazing  with  fixed  atten- 
tion into  the  cradle  at  Albina  Allen,  an  old  Indian 
squaw  makes  a  strange  prediction.  As  she  sways 


her  muscular  body  back  and  forth  seven  times, 
crosses  her  forehead  solemnly,  and  turns  abruptly 
to  the  east  to  give  efficacy  to  her  words,  she  says : 
"  Snow  baby  bend  like  a  reed,  seven  times,  but  snow 
baby  no  break.  Snow  baby  moon  rise  red  like  blood, 
but  snow  baby  sun  set  in  gold,  bright,  like  day." 

Being  more  or  less  influenced  by  superstition, 
Dolly  ponders  over  this  curious  prophecy.  She 
watches  with  loving  tenderness  the  development  of 
her  little  girl,  with  the  deep-set  brown  eyes,  and 
wonders  why  this  curious  prediction  should  be  made 
over  her  precious  child's  life.  For  Dolly  hopes  her 
daughter  will  fulfil  the  philanthropic  ideas  she  her- 
self has  never  been  able  to  accomplish. 

As  the  years  pass,  Dolly's  dream  is  fulfilled,  for 
Jonah  makes  a  modest  fortune.  He  builds  a  large 
and  comfortable  house,  and  other  children  come  to 
enliven  the  Baxter  home,  but,  like  the  early  bloom- 
ing poppies,  they  droop,  and  die.  Side  by  side  the 
little  graves  lie  in  God's  Acre.  Albina  Allen,  how- 
ever, develops  rapidly,  and  on  her  young  brow  there 
is  a  sad  expression,  reminding  her  mother  of  the 
heritage  foretold  by  the  Indian  squaw. 

The  little  human  reed  bends  almost  to  breaking 
over  the  death  of  a  tiny  brother,  whose  little  casket 
she  covers  with  white  rosebuds.  This  is  her  first 
trial. 

The  second  bending  of  the  reed  of  her  life,  is  over 


A   WOMAN'S    DREAM  23 

the  suffering  of  "  Uncle  Tom,"  as  depicted  in  a 
book  that  is  firing  the  fuse  of  abolition.  With  a 
child's  keen  sympathy  for  the  downtrodden,  she  asks 
day  after  day :  "  Mamma,  is  there  nothing  a  little 
girl  can  do  to  help  '  Uncle  Tom  '  out  of  his  misery  ? 
When  I'm  older  will  you  let  me  do  something  for 
the  poor  negroes  ?  " 

Dolly  encourages  these  philanthropic  ideas  in  her 
daughter,  whom  she  feels  sure  will  make  her  life  a 
useful  one,  not  one  to  be  frittered  away  as  a  society 
butterfly,  leaving  no  good  works  to  mark  the  path- 
way of  her  existence. 

Though  quite  in  agreement  on  most  subjects, 
Jonah  and  his  wife  differ  widely  on  this  subject  of 
slavery,  a  subject  now  agitating  the  country  at 
large.  In  reading  Northern  papers  containing 
stories  of  cruelty  on  Southern  plantations,  Jonah 
gets  excited,  and  tossing  aside  the  papers  declares : 
"  Every  black  man  in  America  should  be  on  his 
knees  in  gratitude  for  his  servitude,  which  in  the 
end  places  him  within  sound  of  the  Christian  church 
bells.  He  was  brought  over  bound  physically,  but 
is  now  mentally  enlightened  by  the  story  of  Re- 
demption. In  His  love  for  the  untutored  cannibals 
of  Africa,  God  appointed  human  agents  to  drag 
them  away  from  the  dense  canebrakes  where  in  a 
miasmic  climate  missionaries  dare  not  risk  their  own 
lives." 


24,  THE    RED    MOON 

Dolly  exclaims :  "  The  hand  of  God  linked  with 
the  hand  of  the  oppressor!  Never,  never,  Jonah." 

Little  Albina  is  deeply  moved  by  these  discussions 
between  her  father  and  mother.  She  thinks  as  her 
mother  does,  but  listens  attentively  while  her  father 
says :  "  Dolly,  both  your  grandfathers  and  mine 
helped  to  start  slavery,  not  alone  in  America,  but 
far  back  in  the  English  colonies.  Now,  no  com- 
punction of  conscience  troubles  me,  when  I  compare 
the  cannibals  of  Africa  with  the  slaves  on  a  South- 
ern plantation,  contentedly  strumming  the  strings 
of  their  banjos.  We  must  all  labor.  Have  you 
forgotten  our  own  anxieties  when  we  first  reached 
this  Western  wilderness?  I  would  have  gladly  wel- 
comed a  master  to  refill  the  barrel  of  meal  for  me 
then." 

Dolly  is  oppressed,  for  her  life  is  saddened  by 
the  death,  one  after  another,  of  her  little  babies, 
whose  deaths,  like  silver  threads,  keep  her  thoughts 
turning  upwards,  where  she  feels  they  await  her 
coming.  She  is  loath  to  discuss  the  painful  subject 
of  slavery  with  her  husband. 

Day  by  day  little  Albina  spends  hours  beside  the 
sea ;  its  ceaseless  roar  seems  linked  with  her  life,  and 
her  eyes  follow  the  great  sun  as  it  dips  down  be- 
yond the  sea  line,  gleaming  like  a  red  moon  of  fire. 
Full  of  hope,  she  yet  wonders  why  the  Indian  squaw 
should  predict  seven  sorrows  to  overtake  her — to 


A   WOMAN'S    DREAM  25 

bend  her  to  the  breaking  point.  Intermixed  with  the 
prophecy  is  the  comforting  assurance  that  her  sun- 
set will  be  "  bright,  like  day." 

This  only  child  is  a  great  pet  with  her  father. 
He  calls  her  his  "  California  poppy,"  and  he 
watches  her  maturing  to  womanhood  under  the 
godly  influence  of  her  mother. 


CHAPTER    II 

1860  TO  1865 

"  Much  to  learn  and  much  to  forget." — BROWNING. 

IT  is  now  the  height  of  the  season  in  Saratoga, 
and  the  hotels  are  filled  to  their  utmost  capacity. 
Visitors  from  Virginia,  Mississippi,  the  Carolinas, 
Georgia  and  Louisiana  are  here  with  their  families, 
a  retinue  of  servants,  carriages  and  fine  horses. 
They  have  come  to  drink  of  the  life-giving  waters, 
as  an  antidote  to  the  miasma  of  their  low-lands. 
Fully  conscious  that  the  best  blood  of  England 
flows  in  their  veins,  they  care  little  for  the  formal- 
ities of  society,  which  those  of  humble  parentage 
study,  hoping  thereby  to  gain  an  entrance  into  the 
coveted  social  circle. 

Major  Patterson  of  Vicksburg,  and  Colonel  Fur- 
gerson  of  Virginia,  meet  morning  after  morning,  at 
the  Congress  Spring,  but  they  have  not  become 
acquainted.  Major  Patterson  is  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Good  morning,  sir;  I'm  sure  we  are  both  South- 
erners, why  do  we  not  come  into  closer  touch  as  we 
drink  of  these  life-giving  waters  ?  "  Colonel  Fur- 

26  ^ 


1860    TO    1865  27 

gerson  extends  his  hand,  gives  a  secret  Masonic  sym- 
bol, and  at  once  they  are  friends. 

Mrs.  Furgerson  finds  Mrs.  Patterson  depressed, 
needing  cheer.  Her  eldest  daughter,  a  mere  child 
in  years,  who  should  be  under  the  sweet  influences 
of  a  mother's  love,  is  on  her  wedding  tour,  married 
to  the  owner  of  a  vast  estate  in  Mississippi.  This 
child-wife  must  soon  assume  the  heavy  responsibility 
resting  upon  the  mistress  of  hundreds  of  slaves,  and 
her  mother  is  depressed  at  the  outlook. 

Women  are  not  alone  in  craving  sympathy,  but 
often  men  in  real  womanish  moods  .seek  comfort  in 
their  perplexities.  Colonel  Furgerson  gladly  con- 
sults his  new  comrade  on  the  management  of  his 
estate  in  Virginia. 

"  The  old  ancestral  home  of  Stirlingate,"  he  says, 
"  which  I  have  inherited  with  its  hallowed  associa- 
tions, was  first  established  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  in  English  style  descends  from  father 
to  oldest  son.  It  is  now  in  danger  of  going  to 
rack  and  ruin.  For  years  I  have  resided  in  New 
York,  leaving  my  affairs  on  the  plantation  in  the 
hands  of  my  colored  foreman,  Sandy,  who  is  either 
incompetent,  or  neglectful." 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,"  exclaims  Major  Patterson, 
"  you  need  a  real  live  Yankee  overseer  down  there 
to  stir  up  the  indolent  negroes.  I  have  no  doubt 
your  old  foreman  sleeps  half  the  day,  and  dances 


28  THE    RED    MOON 

a  greater  part  of  the  night.  I'll  guarantee  that 
your  corn  crop  is  knee-deep  in  grass,  and  your 
tobacco  plants  covered  with  caterpillars.  Pay  a 
Northern  man  a  good  salary,  and  your  beautiful 
estate  will  blossom  like  a  rose.  Your  next  year's 
crop  will  amaze  you." 

"  Where  am  I  to  find  such  a  man  ?  " 

"  I  can  fully  recommend  a  young  fellow  recently 
graduated  from  the  agricultural  department  of  a 
well-known  college.  Shall  I  have  him  see  you  at 
your  office  in  New  York  ?  " 

"Do  so,  Major,  and  I  shall  be  under  lasting  obli- 
gations." 

It  is  an  accepted  fact,  that  in  these  days  of  slav- 
ery no  Southern  man  of  any  mental  ability  will 
assume  the  position  of  overseer,  even  with  a  lucra- 
tive salary.  He  prefers  to  suffer  want  rather  than 
be  called  an  "  overseer."  The  position  is  filled  en- 
tirely by  Northern-bred  men,  with  little  or  no  inher- 
ent love  for  the  negro — (such  as  Southerners  feel, 
who  from  childhood  are  petted  and  spoiled  by  their 
black  mammies) — and  with  full  scope  given  them 
by  the  master,  the  overseer  uses  such  force  and 
cruelty  as  finds  voice  in  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 

The  master's  duty  is  not  fulfilled  in  paying  a  lib- 
eral salary  to  his  taskmaster,  with  a  bonus  on  each 
bale  of  cotton,  tierce  of  rice,  or  hogshead  of  mo- 
lasses or  sugar.  Having  a  keen  desire  for  gain,  the 


1860    TO    1865  29 

Northern  men-drivers  urge  on  the  work  with  the 
lash,  if  necessary.  Meanwhile,  the  owner  of  the  es- 
tate summers  at  Saratoga  or  travels  in  Europe. 

* 

And  so  it  happens  that  just  before  Christmas  in 
1860,  Mr.  Wallis  Bickers  of  Dayton,  Ohio,  pre- 
sents a  card  of  introduction  from  Major  Patterson 
to  Colonel  Furgerson. 

"  Be  seated,  sir,"  and  the  Wall  Street  lawyer 
closes  a  ponderous  volume  and  turns  his  attention 
to  the  cultivation  of  cotton,  corn,  and  tobacco.  He 
talks  freely  with  his  visitor. 

"  Have  you  a  wife  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  my  mother,  a  widow,  lives  with  me." 

"  Good  idea,  sir ;  a  man  is  lonely  without  a  woman 
to  look  after  his  comfort.  What  are  your  politics  ?  " 

Wallis  Bickers  hesitates,  then  answers,  candidly : 
"  I  am  a  Northern  man,  but  have  never  meddled  with 
politics." 

Colonel  Furgerson  wheels  in  his  revolving  chair, 
and  faces  his  visitor. 

"  You  are  wise,  sir,  for  if  I  mistake  not,  we  are 
soon  to  have  civil  war;  at  least  such  are  the  signs 
at  Washington.  If  it  does  come,  it  will  be  a  mighty 
upheaval.  As  a  Southern  man,  I  feel  no  sympathy 
with  the  movement  in  Boston,  and  elsewhere,  for 
the  education  of  the  black  race.  God  designs  dif- 
ferent men  for  different  spheres  of  work.  A  full- 


30  THE    RED    MOON 

blooded  horse  runs  well  on  the  race  track,  but  at- 
tempt to  win  a  stake  with  a  mule,  and  the  owner 
will  fail  to  clear  the  animal's  food.  On  the  other 
hand,  hitch  a  thoroughbred  Kentucky  horse  to  a 
plough,  and  he  will  kick  it  into  splinters  rather  than 
drag  its  weight  over  rough  ground. 

"  Edward  Colston,  of  Bristol,  England,  advo- 
cated the  duty  of  educating  the  working  classes. 
What  did  the  mayor  and  aldermen  of  that  old  city 
do ?  They  at  once  voted  him  to  be  'a  dangerous 
person,  likely  to  turn  the  sons  of  the  poor  into 
vipers  to  sting  the  rich  when  once  they  are  raised 
out  of  ignorance.' 

"  If  Northern  men  will  study  the  contentment  of 
the  black  race  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line,  they 
will  let  them  alone  to  live  their  simple  lives — lives 
free  from  care.  I  speak  of  this  matter,  Mr.  Bickers, 
for  if  you  take  charge  at  Stirlingate  I  wish  no  abo- 
lition doctrine  talked  to  my  happy  slaves.  And 
now,  let  me  ask  if  you  have  had  practical  experi- 
ence in  the  cultivation  of  land?  Book  knowledge  is 
well,  but  not  all  sufficient." 

"  Yes,  Colonel !  My  diploma  in  the  agricultural 
department  at  Amherst  was  given  me  after  prac- 
tical work  on  the  farm.  If  you  wish  references  as 
to  my  character,  I  can  give  them." 

Colonel  Furgerson  laughs. 

"I  judge  a  man  by  his  facial  expression,  that 


1860    TO    1865  31 

mysterious  hall-mark  about  his  mouth  that  infalli- 
bly demonstrates  his  character.  The  worst  rogues 
of  to-day  are  many  of  them  highly  esteemed  church 
members,  moving  in  good  society." 

Although  he  had  strong  faith  in  the  physiognomy 
of  persons,  Colonel  Furgerson  makes  careful  inquiry 
as  to  the  character  of  the  man  he  is  about  to  en- 
gage. It  proved  entirely  satisfactory. 

About  the  holidays  Wallis  and  his  mother  arrive. 
They  establish  themselves  in  great  comfort,  with 
"  Granny  Kitty's  "  daughter  as  cook,  and  a  "  likely 
girl  "  from  "  the  quarters  "  as  housemaid. 

In  Ohio,  Mrs.  Bickers  herself  performed  the 
duties  of  her  household,  and  her  son,  by  periods  of 
manual  labor,  worked  his  way  through  college. 
Now,  he  never  saddles,  or  unharnesses  a  horse,  nor 
fetches  his  mother  a  bucket  of  water.  Mrs.  Bickers 
is  having  an  easy  time. 

Negroes  are  astute  observers,  and  "  Granny 
Kitty  "  eyes  the  newcomers  with  a  cynical  smile 
playing  about  her  lips.  She  places  her  arms  akimbo 
as  she  says  to  her  husband :  "  Sandy,  dese  w'ite 
folks  is  some  Yankee  trash  what  Mars  Jemes  is 
picked  up  on  de  street  in  New  York.  What  for  he 
send  us  sech  w'ite  folks,  hea?  No  'count  w'ite 
buckra !  I  tell  you,  Sandy,  yourn  day  of  re j 'icing 
is  done  gone.  You  might  as  well  go  hang  your  harp 
on  de  willow  tree,  cayse  dat  cotton  planter  whip 


32  THE    RED    MOON 

strapped  sidewise  ober  your  shoulder  is  to  be  un- 
strapped. Mars  Jemes  is  hear  tell  of  some  of  yourn 
fool  idea  about  freedom.  You  a  jet  black  crow 
now  a  talking  'bout  de  time  when  you'll  be  free, 
and  a  snow  white  dove!  Sandy,  yonder  is  a  sheep 
dog  to  guard  dis  place,"  and  she  tilts  her  turbaned 
head  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Wallis  Bickers.  "  I 
neber  did  hab  no  use  for  Yankees;  dey  don't 
understand  we  colored  folks  like  we's  massa  and 
missus " 

Sandy's  downcast  expression  indicates  plainly 
that  he  is  of  his  wife's  opinion;  yet  with  the  old- 
time  intuitive  respect  for  the  white  race,  he  doffs 
his  hat  to  the  man  who  is  to  supersede  him,  while 
deep  in  his  heart  there  surge  emotions  which  he 
wisely  suppresses. 

After  the  New  Year,  an  aged  brother  joins  Mrs. 
Bickers,  and  the  three  live  on  the  "  fat  of  the  land." 

"  Granny  Kitty's  "  wrath  grows  more  intense, 
and  she  indignantly  declares :  "  Missus  up  in  New 
York  wid  all  her  money  neber  has  sech  suffusion  of 
victuals !  Turkeys  an'  chickens  ain't  got  no  time  to 
grow,  wid  dat  w'ite  'oman  a  ordering  my  Zenas  to 
chop  off  de,ir  heads.  De  Lord  only  knows  what  ole' 
Massa  would  say  if  he  could  rise  from  he  grave  an' 
see  dese  poor  w'ite  folks  a  gallavantin'  up  and  down 
at  Sterlingate,  an'  a  going  to  drive  in  Massa's  fine 
carriage,  jest  de  same  as  if  it  is  dey  own.  My 


1860    TO    1865  33 

Lord,  how  my  blood  biles!  yet  both  me  an'  Sandy 
is  'bleeged  to  keep  we  mouth  shet  tight.  I  t'inks  a 
powerful  lot  o'  nights." 

The  years  pass,  and  Colonel  Furgerson's  predic- 
tion as  to  civil  war  comes  true.  Formerly  an  of- 
ficer in  a  Virginia  regiment,  he  closes  his  New  York 
office,  and  hastens  to  his  native  State  to  offer  his 
services  in  the  Southern  army.  His  wife  and  chil- 
dren remain  North.  Bidding  them  good-bye,  he 
assures  them:  "We  will  annihilate  the  Northern 
troops,  drive  them  into  the  sea.  Look  out  for  me 
very  soon,  with  the  victor's  plume  in  my  helmet." 

The  word  "  soon "  echoes  and  re-echoes  in  the 
gloom  of  Mrs.  Furgerson's  Fifth  Avenue  home. 
When  New  York  is  decked  with  bunting  to  cele- 
brate a  victory,  Mrs.  Furgerson  instead  bows  her 
windows,  as  is  customary  in  Philadelphia  after  a 
death  in  the  family. 

Four  years  of  bitter  conflict  pass  before  the 
bonnie  blue  flag  of  the  Confederacy  is  furled,  never 
more  to  lead  brave  soldiers  to  battle. 


CHAPTER    III 

ALICE    GREY 

The  whispering  shell  is  mute 

And  often  is  evil  cheer; 
She  shall  stand  on  the  shore  and  cry  in  vain 

Many   and   many   a   year. 

HOWELLS. 

ALBINA  has  matured  rapidly  since  we  left  her  be- 
side the  Western  sea.  With  wealth  at  her  com- 
mand, she  adheres  to  her  purpose  of  helping  the 
downtrodden,  lifting  the  fallen. 

After  repeated  refusals,  she  gains  her  parents' 
consent  to  go  East  and  do  what  she  can  for  the 
suffering  soldiers.  There  under  the  care  of  her 
aunt  she  devotes  her  time  to  reading  for  the  con- 
valescent in  the  hospitals ;  it  matters  not  if  they  be 
Northern  or  Southern  soldiers. 

The  end  of  the  war  finds  many  sick  and  wounded, 
needing  the  soothing  influence  of  woman,  a  few  of 
whom  are  doomed  never  to  return  to  their  families. 
Their  eyes  follow  Albina  as  she  passes  back  and 
forth  in  the  wards.  She  has  neither  beauty  of  face 
nor  form,  and  \  it  is  the  magnetism  of  her  deep-set 

34 


ALICE    GREY  35 

brown  eyes  that  brings  others  to  her  feet,  ready 
and  willing  to  do  her  bidding.  Young  as  she  is, 
her  life  is  dedicated  to  charitable  work.  Womanly 
love  fills  her  heart  and  makes  her  equally  kind  to 
all,  whether  they  wear  the  blue  or  the  grey. 

It  is  when  in  this  noble  work  of  ministering  to 
the  sick  and  suffering  that  Albina  comes  in  touch 
with  Mr.  Wallis  Bickers  of  Dayton,  Ohio,  the  town 
from  which  her  father  and  mother  came.  In  fact, 
Wallis  Bickers  remembers  that,  as  a  mere  lad,  he 
joined  in  the  fun  of  showering  rice  over  a  couple 
starting  West  in  a  covered  wagon,  who  were  none 
other  than  Albina's  father  and  mother.  This  fact 
opens  the  doors  to  a  new  friendship. 

Albina  ministers  daily  to  two  soldiers,  Munroe  by 
name;  one,  an  officer  wearing  the  blue,  the  other,  a 
boy  who  glories  in  the  thought  that  his  uniform  is 
grey.  His  last  bugle  has  sounded  for  taps,  and  he 
never  will  buckle  on  the  sword  of  which  he  is  proud. 
Through  Albina'.s  keen  insight  she  discovers  that 
the  Munroes  are  brothers,  but  neither  knows  of  the 
other's  presence  under  the  same  roof.  Paul  Mun- 
roe, the  elder,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  now  confides  to 
Albina  that  he  recognized  his  youngest  brother  on 
the  field  of  battle  at  Appomattox,  as  with  a  plunge 
forward  he  rushed  into  the  Confederate  lines  with 
bayonet  fixed.  With  the  natural  love  of  a  brother 
over-riding  every  other  feeling,  he  quickly  threw 


36  THE    RED    MOON 

down  his  gun,  and  tried  to  stay  the  flow  of  blood 
from  a  wound  made  by  his  keen  sword,  and  while 
doing  so,  received  a  bullet  from  his  own  company 
which  shattered  his  leg.  Each  day  Albina  bears 
loving  messages  from  one  to  the  other,  and  she  holds 
the  hand  of  the  boy  in  grey  as  he  passes  beyond  the 
Sentinel  at  the  gateway  of  death.  Later,  .she  essays 
to  soothe  the  pangs  of  regret  in  the  bosom  of  the 
officer  doomed  to  hobble  on  crutches  for  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

As  yet,  no  Confederate  soldier  is  willing  to  admit 
that  he  is  whipped;  he  is  overpowered,  that  is  all. 
But  descendants  of  Colonial  aristocrats,  in  whose 
veins  flows  the  bluest  of  blue  blood,  now  have  their 
iron  will  sorely  tried.  Accustomed  to  luxury,  they 
must  now  break  the  fetters  that  bind  them  to  a  life 
of  ease,  and  lay  hold  of  the  plough-handle  of  man- 
ual labor.  So  only  can  they  hope  to  rise  above  the 
ruin  and  devastation  of  war,  which  has  reduced 
their  homes  to  ashes,  with  chimney  stacks  pointing, 
like  the  Sphinx  of  Egypt,  to  the  splendors  of  the 
past. 

The  burning  words  of  their  great  chieftain  con- 
tinue to  ring  in  their  ears:  "We  have  fought  this 
fight  as  long  and  as  well  as  we  know  how.  We 
have  been  defeated.  For  us,  as  Christian  people, 
there  is  but  one  course  to  pursue.  We  must  accept 
the  situation." 


ALICE    GREY  37 

Before  the  grass  grows  over  the  graves  of  their 
fathers  and  brothers,  the  women  of  the  South,  once 
belles  of  the  drawing-room,  enter  the  kitchen.  With 
their  sleeves  rolled  up,  they  follow  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds' recipe,  and  "  mix  edibles  with  brains."  En- 
gaged in  these  homely  duties,  they  sing  the  "  Lore- 
lei "  or  some  other  love  song,  and,  in  fact,  even 
stand  under  marriage  bells  with  poverty  as  their 
only  inheritance. 

When  the  young  gather  about  the  fabled  fount 
to  drink,  they  forget  that,  like  Marah's  well,  the 
water  may  some  day  be  bitter.  Love  is  not  easily 
discouraged  by  adverse  circumstances,  nor  is  Cupid 
averse  to  poverty,  even  absolute  want. 

There  is,  however,  another  form  of  love  which  is 
not  entangled  in  the  fairy  web  of  a  sybarite,  and 
it  is  this  disinterested  love  that  actuates  Albina  to 
leave  wealth  and  home  to  devote  her  life  to  char- 
itable work.  When  the  citizens  of  Boston  call  for 
volunteer  teachers  to  go  South  to  teach  the  negroes, 
Albina  promptly  sends  in  her  name,  and  is  assigned 
to  a  little  log-cabin  school  in  Fairfax  County,  Vir- 
ginia, some  three  miles  from  Stirlingate,  where 
Wallis  Bickers  is  in  charge  of  hired  laborers  on 
Colonel  Furgerson's  estate. 

At  this  time  untutored  colored  men  are  hurled  on 
to  the  platform  of  untried  duties,  and  by  a  strange 
fatality  were  granted  the  franchise.  Is  it  any  won- 


38  THE    RED    MOON 

der  that  these  illiterate  men  wear  the  cap  of  free- 
dom with  a  comical  mien?  Or  is  it  surprising  that 
the  voices  of  their  former  masters  cry  out  for  shame, 
when  their  slaves  by  a  powerful  turn  of  the  political 
wheel  are  elected  to  seats  in  the  halls  of  Southern 
legislatures  to  formulate  State  laws  of  which  they 
know  absolutely  nothing? 

It  is  at  this  trying  period  that  Albina  Baxter 
arrives  in  Virginia,  and  renews  her  acquaintance 
with  Wallis  Bickers.  Isolated  as  she  is  by  her 
chosen  work,  which  debars  her  from  meeting  refined 
Southern  ladies,  she  turns  to  Mrs.  Bickers  for  com- 
panionship, and  thereafter  is  a  frequent  visitor  at 
Stirlingate.  This  colonial  home  in  every  way  ful- 
fills her  ideas  of  the  South's  old  ancestral  home- 
steads. 

The  dwelling  is  a  spacious  one,  with  a  twelve- 
foot  piazza  running  around  the  house,  and  .sup- 
ported by  massive  stone  pillars  in  Corinthian  de- 
sign. The  wide  piazza  effectively  protects  the 
rooms  from  the  summer  sun,  and  also  from  the  fury 
of  winter  storms.  Of  an  evening,  when  the  moon 
silvers  every  object,  it  is  an  ideal  promenade.  What 
is  more  natural  than  that  Albina  and  Wallis  should 
spend  happy  hours  there,  their  friendship  each  day 
becoming  more  binding? 

Roses  clamber  in  luxurious  abandon  about  the 
pillars.  Though  unpruned,  uncared  for,  they  are 


ALICE    GREY  39 

laden  with  blooms.  The  old-fashioned  boxwood  bor- 
ders of  the  garden,  once  a  joy  to  successive  owners, 
is  trodden  under  foot  by  the  heel  of  the  late  in- 
vaders. The  kitchen  garden  in  the  rear  shows  lov- 
ing care.  "  Granny  Kitty  "  and  her  helpers  are 
convinced  that  some  day  "  Missus  "  will  come  from 
New  York,  and  will  need  chickens  and  vegetables. 
The  rearing  of  poultry,  and  cultivating  of  the  gar- 
den is  a  self-imposed  duty  she  assumes,  while  her 
husband,  Sandy,  is  hired  to  till  the  .soil.  Her  son, 
Zenas,  is  warned  never  to  wring  off  the  heads  of 
chickens  or  turkeys  save  by  her  command.  She  says : 
"  If  dat  white  'oman  in  Massa's  house  is  got  to  eat 
fowl  meat,  she  kin  buy  an'  clean  dem  herself.  Us 
don't  mean  to  raise  fowls  for  her  to  eat." 
"  Granny  "  is  staunchly  loyal  to  her  white  "  chil- 
lens,"  as  she  calls  Colonel  Furgerson's  family,  hav- 
ing been  a  slave  of  the  Colonel's  father. 

The  old  homestead  of  Stirlingate  bears  the  scars 
not  only  of  Northern  bullets  but  also  of  the  War 
of  1812,  when  the  Tories  entered  the  mansion  and 
chopped  into  an  old-fashioned  massive  mahogany 
bureau  drawer  to  secure  silver  and  jewels. 

Impoverished  nobility  of  the  Old  World  often  find 
it  difficult  to  maintain  their  ancestral  estates,  and 
now  but  for  the  energy  of  its  present  owner,  Stir- 
lingate would  totter  to  its  ruin;  this  beautiful 
house  that  General  Lee  made  his  headquarters,  and 


40  THE    RED    MOON 

from  the  upper  enthroned  balcony  looked  down  upon 
his  soldiers  bivouacked  in  the  meadows.  Here  in 
the  evening  fireflies  hold  high  carnival,  and  at  the 
midnight  hour  mocking-birds  trill  their  impassioned 
love  songs. 

Beyond,  and  sweeping  off  toward  the  blue  hills, 
is  a  wealth  of  dark  forest  trees,  the  middle  distance 
a  cultivated  area  of  corn. 

"  Father  Time  "  and  his  truant  son,  the  "  Tide," 
wait  for  no  man.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  with  such 
environment  Wallis  Bickers  "  makes  hay  while  the 
sun  shines,"  and  seizes  upon  the  present  moment  to 
win  a  trusting  heart,  before  its  owner  realizes  that 
her  feelings  are  those  of  love? 

Beneath  a  bower  of  cloth  of  gold  roses,  and  the 
soft  light  of  a  crescent  moon,  Albina  and  Wallis 
Bickers  plight  their  troth,  and  he  calls  her  his 
"  California  poppy,"  a  name  dear  to  her. 

Albina  now  laughs  at  the  prediction  of  the  In- 
dian squaw.  The  petty  cares  of  her  school  dwindle 
into  insignificance  when  her  lover  spends  his  even- 
ings with  her,  and  in  the  morning  she  sees  her  sun 
rise  with  golden  tints,  and  not  in  the  least  like  a 
great  red  moon.  She  feels  that  she  can  bear  more 
than  the  seven  trials  marked  out  for  her,  if  only 
Wallis  holds  her  hand.  Day  by  day  they  plan  for 
their  future,  as  if  neither  could  die. 

Scarce  a  year  has  passed  when  Colonel  Furgerson 


ALICE    GREY  41 

pays  a  hurried  visit  to  Stirlingate  to  consult  his 
manager  about  a  project  he  has  in  mind. 

A  large  mill  owner  in  England,  a  friend  of  Major 
Patterson,  is  in  possession  of  a  rare  package  of 
cotton  seed,  that  produces  a  delicate  pink  fibre. 
Cloth  woven  from  its  long  and  durable  staple  shows 
the  sheen  of  silk,  the  soft  flexibility  of  wool,  and 
the  ravishing  color  of  a  peach  blossom.  How  these 
seeds  were  purloined  from  the  descendants  of  the 
Pharaohs  of  Egypt  is  a  carefully  guarded  secret, 
as  for  centuries  this  plant  has  been  the  exclusive 
property  of  the  Crown ;  and  a  penalty  of  death  is 
said  to  await  any  one  who  cultivates  it  outside  the 
royal  domain. 

America,  a  free  country,  is  not  under  the  tyrannic 
power  of  an  Eastern  potentate,  and  the  climate  of 
England  not  being  warm  enough  to  mature  the 
cotton  plant,  Mr.  Lathan  offers  the  package  of 
seeds  to  Major  Patterson.  As  he  possesses  no  cot- 
ton land,  he  passes  the  offer  on  to  Colonel  Furger- 
son,  suggesting  that  he  make  an  effort  to  grow  this 
singular  but  certainly  money-producing  plant. 

The  Colonel  proposes  to  Wallis  Bickers  that  a,s 
soon  as  the  crops  are  laid  by  for  the  summer,  he 
shall  cross  the  ocean  and  secure  the  precious  pack- 
age of  seed,  for  it  is  only  to  be  delivered  person- 
ally. Wallis  consents,  and  on  August  the  31st  sails 
from  New  York. 


42  THE    RED    MOON 

The  sloping  terraces  on  Staten  Island  are  ablaze 
with  summer's  gayest  blossoms,  making  brilliant 
glimpses  of  color  to  blend  with  the  waters  of  the 
bay  that  are  calm  and  unruffled.  Wallis  enjoys  the 
sea,  and  each  day  of  the  voyage  writes  a  few  lines 
to  his  beloved  Albina.  A  rambling  letter,  he  posts 
it  in  Queenstown.  A  few  extracts  reveal  his  state 
of  mind. 

"  SEPTEMBER  3rd — MID-OCEAN. 

"  Darling  Albina,  life  would  be  a  dream  of  bliss 
were  you  beside  me.  This,  my  first  voyage,  is  ideal. 
I  spend  many  hours  peering  over  the  rails,  for  there 
is  a  fascination  about  the  waves  with  the  Portu- 
guese men  of  war  atop,  their  fin-like  sails  set.  The 
water  is  clear  and  I'm  wondering  if  countless  dead 
lie  entombed  below,  shrouded  in  clinging  seaweed 
and  guarded  by  silvery  fish  that  glide  in  and  out 
among  the  beds  of  coral.  It  is  said  scarce  a  ripple 
disturbs  the  sleep  of  those  who  go  down  into  the 
depths  of  the  sea.  Why  is  it,  then,  that  the  human 
heart  instinctively  shudders  at  the  mere  suggestion 
of  such  a  grave? 

"  But,  I  must  not  write  of  sad  thoughts.  My  one 
longing  is  to  embrace  you,  my  precious  little  Cali- 
fornia poppy ** 

"SEPT.   8th. 

"  Strange  but  true  that  before  I  set  foot  on  land, 
I  am  already  counting  the  weeks  and  the  days  till 


ALICE    GREY  43 

I  shall  be  with  you  again.  I  cannot  live  without 
you,  for  you  are  essential  to  my  happiness.  Life  is 
a  blank  without  your  presence.  Write  to  your  par- 
ents and  gain  their  consent  to  be  my  wife  as  soon 
as  I  return  to  the  States. 

"  Day  by  day  I  picture  your  frail  young  form  in 
the  schoolroom,  surrounded  by  a  stupid  odoriferous 
crowd  of  negroes,  and  every  fibre  of  my  being  re- 
volts at  this  self-sacrifice.  Colonel  Furgerson  is 
really  correct  when  he  .says  that  the  Southern  ne- 
groes will  never  be  more  content  and  happy  than 
when  the  slaves  of  their  masters. 

"  Darling  Albina,  give  up  this  self-imposed  work 
of  teaching.  Leave  it  to  be  performed  by  '  the  phil- 
anthropic Bostonians.' ' 

"  SEPT.  9th. 

"  We  have  just  sighted  the  Emerald  Isle.  What 
a  thrill  of  joy  we  all  experienced  at  the  tinge  of 
green  on  God's  beautiful  earth,  even  though  it  be 
still  some  distance  away.  I  am  closing  this  to  post 
at  Queenstown.  Longing  to  have  a  letter  from  my 
darling  Albina,  I  am  ever  her  devoted  lover, 

"  WALLIS." 

"  SEPT.  14th. 

"  I  visited,  to-day,  the  large  mills  of  Mr.  Ernest 
Lathan,  at  Lancaster,  who  has  already  delivered  to 
me  the  package  of  precious  cotton  seed.  He  has 


44  THE    RED    MOON 

also  presented  me  with  two  beautiful  English  dogs. 
One  for  the  Colonel,  a  greyhound,  and  a  jet  black 
water  spaniel  named  Beauty,  which  I  shall  present 
to  you.  She  will  soon  be  as  devoted  to  her  mistress 
as  I  am. 

"  I  am  deeply  impressed  with  the  home  life  of  this 
rich  Englishman.  His  house  is  surrounded  by  high 
stone  walls,  against  which  are  interlaced  fruit  trees 
and  grape  vines,  with  here  and  there  a  -stunted  mag- 
nolia bush.  I  tried  to  describe  the  magnolia  trees 
in  the  forests  of  America  to  Mr.  Lathan. 

"  Within  the  walls  of  his  grounds  it  is  difficult  to 
imagine  that  a  busy  city  lies  just  outside.  In  fact, 
my  head  is  still  dizzy  with  the  hum  of  the  spindles 
in  his  large  factory,  which  is  near  at  hand. 

"  By  invitation  I  dined  with  him,  and  was  pre- 
sented to  his  wife  and  daughters ;  rosy-cheeked  girls, 
but  neither  of  them  has  the  sweet  charm  of  manner, 
the  simple  grace  of  my  darling  Albina,  whose  eyes 
even  here  follow  me  with  their  depth  of  true  feeling. 

"  Your  first  letter  reached  me  this  morning,  and 
I  kissed  impulsively  the  words  your  heart  indited 
and  pen  wrote. 

"  To-morrow  I  leave  for  a  hurried  glance  at  the 
metropolis,  spending  a  few  hours  at  Manchester  and 
Birmingham. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  precious  California  flower, 
the  sweetest  flower  that  ever  bloomed  in  earth's  gar- 


ALICE    GREY  45 

den.     And  to  think  it  is  for  me  overpowers  me  with 
gratitude!     Your  devoted  WALLIS." 

"  MOBXEY'S  HOTEL,  LONDON, 

"  SEPT.  28th. 

"  I  should  enjoy  this  busy  city  of  London  if  you 
were  only  with  me.  I  am  very  lonely  and  homesick 
at  times,  and  fully  appreciate  the  idea  of  the  poet, 
that  one  is  never  more  alone  than  when  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd. 

"  However,  there  are  a  number  of  Americans  in 
this  hotel,  and  as  they  are  universally  sociable,  I 
hope  soon  to  become  acquainted." 

"  SEPT.  29th. 

"  To-day  I  had  the  great  pleasure  of  seeing  Her 
Majesty  the  Queen.  It  happened  in  this  wise:  Last 
evening  I  enjoyed  a  short  conversation  with  a  Mrs. 
Grey  and  her  daughter,  Miss  Alice.  They  are  from 
Chicago,  and  informed  me  that  the  Queen  would 
pass  Hyde  Park  corner  at  three  o'clock  and  then 
drive  in  the  park.  With  pity  for  my  ignorance  of 
localities  they  kindly  offered  me  a  seat  in  their  car- 
riage. I  accepted  with  profound  gratitude. 

"  They  have  cheered  me  greatly.  Miss  Alice  Grey 
is  very  bright  and  witty,  in  fact,  captivating,  and 
reminds  me  somewhat,  in  the  tones  of  her  voice,  of 
my  dear  Albina.  Miss  Grey  is  considered  one  of 


46  THE    RED    MOON 

the  most  stylishly  dressed  women  in  the  hotel.     She 
is  really  a  beauty. 

"  However,  dear  Albina,  it  matters  not  what 
women  I  meet;  you  will  ever  be  the  choice  pearl  of 
my  love,  the  little  California  poppy  that  blooms  in 
the  warmest,  cosiest  corner  of  my  heart. 

"  Your  devoted  WALIJS  B." 

"OcT.  2nd. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  pleased  to  know  how  much 
Mrs.  Grey  and  Miss  Alice  are  adding  to  my  enjoy- 
ment of  London.  They  allow  me  to  accompany 
them  in  their  rounds  of  sight-seeing,  and  to-day 
they  honored  me  by  being  my  guest  for  a  drive  in 
Hyde  Park.  You  may  be  sure  I  secured  a  fine  turn- 
out. 

"  Miss  Alice  has  large,  soft,  brown  eyes  like  those 
dreamy  eyes  one  sees  in  the  heads  of  young  seals, — 
eyes  that  seem  to  cling  for  comfort  to  those  who 
have  the  privilege  of  gazing  into  their  depths.  She 
will  make  some  man's  home  a  happy  one.  She  and 
her  mother  expect  to  sail  for  America  about  the  date 
I  have  fixed  upon,  and  I  cannot  but  hope  they  will 
select  the  same  ship.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  have  ac- 
quaintances aboard.  I  have  suggested  it  to  them. 

"I  neglected  to  mention  in  my  last  that  although 
we  had  a  fine  view  of  Her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria, 
she  did  not  impress  me  as  being  one  whit  queenly  in 


ALICE    GREY  47 

appearance,  not  so  majestic  in  outward  carriage  as 
the  young  Chicago  lady  vis-a-vis.  However,  we  felt 
a  queer  kind  of  sensation  in  looking  into  the  face 
of  a  bona  fide  queen,  one  of  whom  since  our  child- 
hood we  have  read. 

"  Your  devoted  WALLIS  B." 

"2  P.  M. 

"  P.  S. — I  close  this  letter  rather  hurriedly  as 
Mrs.  Grey  is  in  the  writing-room  awaiting  her 
daughter.  They  are  going  to  the  National  Gallery 
and  allow  me  to  join  them.  It  is  pleasant  to  view 
pictures  with  those  who  are  artistically  inclined. 
Miss  Alice  has  been  studying  art  in  Paris." 

"  6  P.  M. 

"  I  must  hurry,  as  it  is  time  for  dinner.  My  new- 
found friends  have  kindly  invited  me  to  sit  at  their 
private  table  instead  of  the  table  d'hote.  To  a 
stranger  this  latter  is  tiresome  in  the  extreme. 

"  Your  loving  WALLIS  B." 

"  OCTOBER  18th,  7  o'ck  p.  M. 

"  Here  in  London  the  hours  slip  by  rapidly  and 
I  have  little  time  to  write  you,  darling.  Mrs.  Grey 
and  Miss  Alice  are  my  guests  this  evening  to  see 
one  of  the  greatest  living  actors  play  at  Drury 
Lane  Theatre.  I  have  booked  my  passage  by  the 


48  THE    RED   MOON 

steamship  Dorogan,  which  sails  from  Liverpool  Oc- 
tober 22nd." 

"  12  P.  M. 

"  P.  S. — We  have  just  returned  from  the  theatre. 
The  play  was  fine  and  Miss  Alice  bewitching  in  a 
pale  grey  evening  silk.  I  am  sure  you  would  like 
her,  she  is  so  unaffected  and  simple. 

"  Good-night,  and  good-bye,  dear  Albina.  This 
of  necessity  must  be  my  last  letter,  as  I  sail  by  the 
next  outward-bound  ship.  Pray  earnestly  for  your 
own  WALLIS  B." 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE   SHIPWRECK 

"  But  the  stately  wide-winged  ship  lies  wrecked, 

Lies  wrecked  on  the  unknown  deep: 
Far  under,  dead  in  his  coral  bed 

The  lover  lies  asleep."  HOWELLS. 

THE  Dorogan  leaves  the  docks  of  Liverpool  with 
a  heavy  mist  hugging  the  water's  edge.  The  great 
ship  moves  sluggishly,  as  if  loth  to  quit  the  har- 
bor. Gradually  the  massive  buildings  of  the  city 
are  enveloped  in  clouds  of  fog  and  lost  to  view. 
Involuntarily  Wallis  Bickers  contrasts  the  brilliant 
sunshine  of  New  York  harbor  with  the  chilling  gloom 
of  the  English  coast  at  noon.  Beads  of  moisture 
settle  on  his  topcoat,  and  seem  to  chill  his  heart, 
yet  he  really  is  happy  at  the  thought  of  the  home- 
ward voyage,  and  comforts  himself  that  after  the 
mists  will  come  sunshine,  for  he  recalls  the  trip  over, 
when  scarce  a  white-cap  wave  was  seen;  however, 
the  date  of  the  equinox  is  at  hand,  when  adverse 
winds  may  toss  the  ship  from  side  to  side.  An 
unaccountable  .sensation  of  sadness  mingles  with  the 
joy  of  his  return.  Is  it  fear  that  grips  his  heart- 
strings as  he  watches  the  grimy  old  houses  of  Liver- 
pool grow  dim  and  dimmer?  To  seaward  sky  and 

49 


50  THE    RED    MOON 

water  blend  their  mists  and  obliterate  the  horizon. 
Thinking  of  home,  a  patriotic  surge  of  feeling  fires 
his  heart;  his  cheeks  glow  and  his  eyes  sparkle  over 
the  thought  of  once  more  seeing  the  green  slopes 
of  the  harbor  of  New  York.  The  sea  murmurs  in 
its  restless  onrush,  and  overhead  the  winds  sigh  and 
moan  in  the  ropes  and  canvas.  This  soothes  Wallis. 
He  walks  back  and  forth,  living  over  the  pleasures 
of  his  short  trip  abroad,  where  he  has  mingled  with 
traveled  people,  and  is  convinced  that  he  can  never 
again  undertake  the  humdrum  life  of  an  overseer, 
even  in  such  an  ideal  place  as  Stirlingate.  "  I  must 
locate  where  my  future  wife  can  enjoy  advantages 
to  which  .she  is  entitled."  Dwelling  on  these  serious 
thoughts,  he  is  attracted  by  the  voices  of  a  bevy 
of  young  girls  in  merry  mood. 

"  I  say,  Alice,  what  are  you  to  do?  I  would  sue 
that  London  tailor  for  negligence.  He  has  your 
money  and  your  coat  besides." 

A  fair-haired  girl,  with  a  roguish  twinkle  in  her 
eyes,  takes  up  the  subject.  "  I'd  make  him  dance 
to  the  tune  of  one  hundred  dollars'  damages.  My 
papa  wouldn't  lose  a  day;  he'd  put  the  case  in  the 
hands  of  a  lawyer.  That's  the  way  we  do  things  in 
Chicago." 

The  girls  surround  Alice  to  know  definitely  what 
she  intends  to  do.  Modestly  she  replies :  "  Really, 
girls,  I  would  not  mind  if  it  were  any  other  part 


THE    SHIPWRECK  51 

of  my  trousseau,  but  that  jacket  belongs  to  my 
traveling-gown,  and  I  have  promised  to  marry  di- 
rectly we  arrive  in  New  York,  before  my  fiance  must 
leave  for  the  South.  Now,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Then  she  whisks  herself  around,  saying  with  de- 
termination :  "  I  will  not  marry  until  my  new  j  acket 
comes."  Unexpectedly,  she  narrowly  escapes  flirt- 
ing herself  into  Wallis  Bickers's  arms  as  he  advances. 
Wallis  and  Alice  Grey  both  flush  crimson.  Why? 

Wallis  excuses  himself,  passes  a  few  pleasant  re- 
marks, and  slips  away  to  master  his  sudden  emo- 
tion at  meeting  the  young  woman  who  has  added 
so  much  to  his  trip  abroad.  He  seats  himself  on  a 
coil  of  rope  beside  the  mizzenmast,  and  watches  the 
•sun  going  down,  uniting  the  overhanging  clouds 
with  a  promise  of  coming  glory, — a  bright  sunset. 
Soon  the  great  red  ball  dips  behind  the  rolling 
waves,  in  coquettish  fashion  rising  and  playing  hide 
and  seek,  then,  like  a  winged  archer,  rides  the  silver- 
crested  expanse  of  water  before  disappearing  for  the 
night,  leaving  an  assurance,  after  the  darkness  of 
night  there  will  be  light,  a  blaze  of  glory. 

Wallis  walks  across  the  deck,  seeking  the  silver 
lining  of  amber  and  gold  that  interlines  every  cloud. 
Instead,  there  comes  over  the  sea  a  death-like  pallor 
as  the  curtain  of  night  draws  together,  leaving  in 
the  swinging  canopy  overhead  one  lone  star  that 
glitters  and  sparkles;  then, 


52  THE    RED    MOON 

"  Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of 

Heaven, 

Blossom  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots   of 
the  angels." 

Wallis  is  deeply  moved  by  this  weird  change  from 
brilliant  sunshine  to  the  soft  light  of  early  night. 
This  dance  of  joy  by  the  red  sun,  so  soon  followed 
by  funereal  gloom,  this  the  intermingling  of  the 
power  of  the  Almighty  with  the  natural  forces  of 
sea  and  air. 

Surcharged  as  his  heart  is  with  a  feeling  of  awe, 
a  sensation  akin  to  dread  permeates  his  mind.  He 
sits  musing  over  the  singular  prophecy  once  pro- 
nounced over  the  cradle  of  Albina  Baxter.  Again 
and  again  he  asks  himself,  "  Can  one  frail  woman 
bear  seven  trials  without  being  broken  in  spirit?  " 

Restless  in  body  as  well  as  in  mind,  he  hurriedly 
walks  to  and  fro,  and  finds  Alice  Grey,  wrapped 
like  a  mummy,  and  pinioned  in  her  steamer  chair  to 
the  deck.  She  is  making  desperate  efforts  to  resist 
the  sickening  effects  of  the  rocking  -ship.  She  has 
often  boasted  that  she  is  a  good  sailor. 

So  strong  is  the  influence  of  some  women  that 
each  time  Wallis  passes  the  lovely  Alice  Grey  his 
ambition  is  stimulated,  and  he  determines  to  seek  a 
wider  field  wherein  to  fulfil  his  aspirations,  not  the 
circumscribed  life  he  leads  at  Stirlingate,  egging  on 


THE    SHIPWRECK  53 

to  work  a  number  of  shiftless  negroes.  The  trip 
abroad  has  opened  an  avenue  of  new  ideas,  new  as- 
pirations. Before  long  the  decks  are  quite  deserted, 
as  reeling  passengers  hurry  to  their  cabins,  wishing 
they  had  never  left  the  safety  and  comfort  of  terra- 
firma.  The  gloomy  dread  of  a  long  night  is  occa- 
sionally appeased  by  the  cheery  voice  of  the  watch- 
man aloft  crying  "  All's  well ! " 

Wallis  is  a  good  sailor  and  with  firm  .step  seeks 
his  berth  with  a  prayer  on  his  lips. 

"  Thou  who  madest  the  heavens,  the  sun,  moon 
and  stars,  who  holds  the  ocean  in  the  hollow  of 
Thy  hand,  grant  us," — he  emphasizes  the  pronoun, 
— "  grant  us  a  safe  voyage !  "  He  sleeps,  but 
dreams  of  the  loved  ones  at  home.  So  real  is  his 
dream,  he  smells  the  odor  of  late  blooming  roses  at 
Stirlingate,  and  listens  to  the  last  dying  notes  of 
the  impassioned  mocking-birds ;  he  sees  once  more 
the  sloping  shores  of  Staten  Island,  and  notices  that 
the  summer  flowers  have  faded;  in  place  thereof  on 
tree-limb  and  hedgerow  is  thrown  a  covering  of  au- 
tumnal gold,  scarlet,  and  russet  brown.  Suddenly 
a  wave  dashes  against  the  port-hole  of  his  cabin, 
and  awakens  him. 

Up  from  the  east  rises  the  conqueror  of  darkness, 
gleaming  like  a  red  moon  in  the  sea  mists ;  each 
white-capped  wave  tinted  with  blue,  orange,  red  and 
saffron. 


54  THE    RED   MOON 

Day  by  day,  the  great  ship  moves  on  over  the  un- 
beaten ocean  track.  With  favorable  winds  she  will 
soon  enter  her  port.  Sailors  are  busy  cleaning  and 
painting,  in  readiness  for  the  inspector. 

During  the  voyage  Wallis  has  spent  many  pleas- 
ant hours  beside  the  winsome  Alice  Grey  of  Chi- 
cago. She  is  now  a  good  sailor,  and  has  entirely 
put  from  her  mind  the  disappointment  about  her 
gown.  She  hesitates  to  upset  the  plans  of  the  one 
man  in  the  world  she  believes  is  foreordained  to  be 
her  husband.  He  who  came  into  touch  with  her  at 
the  very  moment  when  heart  and  soul  were  ready 
to  respond  to  his  love.  There  could  be  no  chance  in 
their  meeting. 

The  Dorogan  has  made  good  speed  and  will  prob- 
ably land  her  passengers  in  less  than  thirty-six 
hours.  The  glass  points  "  variable,"  and  knowing 
ones  shake  their  heads  with  dread;  they  note  that 
the  captain  is  silent  and  taciturn.  The  wind  veers 
round  to  west  and  northwest,  and  blows  with  great 
velocity. 

The  light-hearted  Alice  Grey,  jesting  of  the 
glories  of  a  storm  at  sea,  exacts  from  Wallis  Bickers 
a  promise  to  save  her,  should  a  gale  arise  and  the 
ship  be  wrecked.  And  thus  they  plan  and  banter,  the 
one  with  the  other,  over  a  disaster  that  neither  sup- 
poses will  come  to  pass.  The  old  ship  Dorogan  has 
withstood  many  a  fierce  wind;  she  is  nearly  at  her 


THE    SHIPWRECK  55 

journey's  end,  and  will  bring  them  to  New  York 
within  the  next  day  or  night. 

Wallis  promises  faithfully  to  do  his  best  to  rescue 
Alice,  if  she  in  turn  consents  to  rescind  a  determina- 
tion made  on  account  of  the  non-arrival  of  a  part 
of  her  traveling-gown.  Again  they  both  flush  crim- 
son, and  the  resolution  remains  undecided.  She  will 
let  him  know  her  decision  later. 

Wallis  Bickers  goes  below  to  care  for  his  dumb 
pets  chained  to  a  ring  in  the  floor,  while  the  wind 
howls  and  shakes  the  ship  from  stem  to  stern. 
"  Beauty,"  the  water  spaniel,  with  a  bound  of  de- 
light, springs  forward  to  greet  her  master,  then 
raising  her  head,  sends  forth  a  piteous  howl,  which, 
in  dog  fashion,  expresses  the  animal's  instinct  of 
coming  danger.  "  Danger  ahead,  eh,  Beauty?  "  and 
the  dog  licks  the  hand  that  strokes  her  silky,  shaggy 
side.  The  ship  rocks  and  rolls  in  the  trough  of  the 
sea,  and  to  give  the  dogs  a  chance  to  save  them- 
selves, Wallis  unfastens  the  fetters  from  their  necks, 
and  while  doing  this  a  sudden  flash  of  light  pene- 
trates down  deep  into  the  hold  of  the  ship ;  as  over- 
head the  deck  is  swept  by  the  force  of  waves  that 
sound  like  the  rattle  of  artillery.  In  quick  succes- 
sion comes  flash  after  flash  with  the  roar  of  thun- 
der. Shorter  and  shorter  are  the  intervals  between 
lurid  streaks  of  lightning  and  thunderbolts.  Wallis 
hurries  up  the  gangway^  with  his  mute  friends  fol- 


56  THE    RED    MOON 

lowing,  and  realizing  the  danger,  he  recalls  his 
promise  to  Alice  Grey.  He  seeks  her  with  a  life 
buoy  in  hand,  and  while  on  this  search  a  vivid  glare 
and  a  crash  show  that  the  mast  is  struck  and  shiv- 
ered. 

Sailors,  like  automatic  figures,  hurry  hither  and 
thither,  and  in  the  weird  darkness  look  like  emis- 
saries of  the  devil  who  have  boarded  the  ship  to 
complete  her  destruction.  These  men  are  implic- 
itly obeying  the  commands  of  the  captain,  who 
stands  firmly  on  the  bridge,  while  the  ship  lurches 
from  side  to  side,  at  each  dip  shipping  a  volume 
of  water.  The  captain's  voice  is  clear  and  ringing 
and  inspires  hope,  despite  the  din  of  shrieking  women 
and  crying  children. 

However,  in  the  confusion  another  alarm  rings 
out  which  pierces  every  heart  with  dread.  From  all 
sides  comes  the  cry,  "  Fire !  Fire !  Fire !  " 

With  calmness  the  first  officer  musters  his  fire 
brigade.  The  pumps!  strain  to  their  utmost  ca- 
pacity, groaning  and  creaking  like  living  things. 
Buckets  of  water  swing  from  hand  to  hand,  and  still 
tongues  of  fire  leap  fore  and  aft.  The  ship  seems 
doomed,  and  in  this  scene  of  horror  and  confusion 
the  captain's  stern  command  extinguishes  the  last 
ray  of  hope  in  the  bosom  of  both  passengers  and 
crew :  "  Man  the  life-boats !  " 

This  indicates  that  the  ship  is  to  be  abandoned, 


THE    SHIPWRECK  57 

although  she  is  but  twenty-four  hours  from  New 
York. 

While  assisting  women  and  children  into  the  life- 
boats, Wallis  scans  each  face,  hoping  to  find  the 
beautiful  Chicago  girl,  whom  he  has  promised  to 
save  in  case  of  shipwreck.  Presently,  with  a  shriek 
of  pain,  she  rushes  into  his  arms,  crying :  "  Save  me, 
oh,  save  me!  "  He  jerks  off  his  coat  and  wraps  it 
about  her  burning  dress,  as  the  .steamer  plunges  for- 
ward and  they  are  both  swept  overboard  by  a  wave. 
Wallis  sinks  like  a  leaden  weight,  but  the  buoyance 
of  a  life-belt  that  encircles  him  brings  him  to  the 
surface,  and  he  seems  poised  on  air-bubbles.  Scarce 
knowing  what  he  does,  he  spreads  his  arms  to  swim. 
He  mastered  the  principle  of  keeping  above  water  in 
his  boyhood,  but  paddling  about  in  an  old  pond  is 
unlike  withstanding  the  fury  of  ocean  waves  lashed 
by  the  force  of  a  storm. 

From  every  side  come  cries  for  help,  but  there  is 
not  an  arm  long  enough  to  assist  poor,  struggling 
human  beings  knocked  about  like  feathers  before  the 
wind. 

The  hissing  of  burning  timbers,  and  the  roar  of 
fire,  quiets  down  suddenly  as  the  great  ship  sinks 
to  her  doom. 

In  mute  devotion  to  her  master,  Beauty,  the  water 
spaniel,  swims  to  Wallis's  side.  He  welcomes  her 
with  a  shout.  "  Beauty,  find  her !  "  Then,  over  the 


58  THE    RED   MOON 

roar  of  waves,  he  cries :  "  Alice  Grey,  where  are 
you?  Cling  to  me,  let  me  save  you!  "  There  is  no 
reply,  only  now  and  again  a  flash  of  light,  as  .some 
portion  of  the  burning,  floating  spars  make  the 
night  more  impenetrably  black. 

This  battle  with  the  waves  is  a  severe  test  of 
human  endurance,  pitted  against  insurmountable 
difficulties.  Wallis  is  still  above  water,  and  as  wave 
after  wave  dashes  over  his  head  he  feels  something 
grip  his  foot.  Despite  the  buoyancy  of  his  life- 
preserver,  this  monster  of  the  deep,  as  he  supposes 
it  to  be,  threatens  to  drag  him  down.  Instinctively 
he  struggles  to  be  free.  With  a  mighty  effort,  Wal- 
lis rides  the  crest  of  a  wave,  as  a  flash  of  light 
reveals  a  woman  clinging  to  his  feet.  It  is  Alice 
Grey.  In  piteous  accents  she  cries :  "  Save  me,  oh, 
God !  I  can't  hold  another  moment." 

With  heroic  effort  Wallis  clutches  her  outspread 
arm,  and  draws  it  within  the  circle  of  his  life-belt, 
saying,  "  Do  not  struggle,  for  if  you  do  we  must 
both  go  down." 

Alice  recognizes  his  voice  and  cries,  "  You  prom- 
ised to  save  me !  " 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  only  try  to  be  brave.  Help 
may  come  with  the  morning  light.  I  have  my  arm 
over  a  floating  spar." 

Alice  Grey  is  soothed.  She  believes  if  any  one 
in  the  world  can  save  her,  he  can,  he  so  manly  and 
brave. 


THE    SHIPWRECK  59 

And  supported,  buoyed  up  by  the  life-preserver, 
her  natural  powers  relax,  while  she  imagines  her 
mother's  arms  are  about  her.  The  angry  sea  kisses 
her  purple  lips,  that  with  childish  simplicity  mur- 
mur, "  Hold  me  tight,  please  " ;  then  she  swoons  into 
unconsciousness. 

Wallis,  almost  exhausted,  clings  to  his  burden, 
limp  and  buffeted  by  the  waves,  for  there  is  nothing 
he  can  do  to  revive  Alice.  As  the  hours  pass,  he 
reads  page  after  page  of  his  short  life  written  with 
the  indelible  point  of  memory,  line  after  line  aglow 
with  visions  of  happiness,  when  he  shall  clasp  the 
woman  of  his  choice  to  his  heart  and  claim  her  as 
his  bride. 

In  a  mere  instant  of  time,  we  are  told,  at  death 
our  thoughts  often  traverse  and  retraverse  the 
beaten  track  of  our  past,  hedged  in  at  one  turn  by 
love  or  hatred,  joy  or  sorrow,  hope  or  fear. 

And  thus  it  happens  the  clear  morning  light  rises 
above  the  horizon  like  a  great  red  ball  of  fire,  blind- 
ing Wallis,  whose  strength  is  well-nigh  exhausted. 
He  tightens  his  grip  of  the  girl  he  holds,  and  he 
seems  to  see  great  black  lines  against  the  sun  with 
these  words,  "  Prepare  to  meet  thy  God,"  as  if 
written  with  the  sharp  point  of  a  great  pen.  His 
mortal  frame  is  exhausted,  while  the  emotions  of 
his  soul  are  keen  and  thrilling. 


CHAPTER    V 

A  WOMAN'S  vow 

"  Believe  me,  Sir, 

It  carries  a  rare  form,  but  'tis  a  spirit." 
THE  TEMPEST. 

AROUND  the  mountain  heights  in  Virginia  No- 
vember mists  curl  and  condense  into  rain. 

The  fields  are  bare,  for  the  gleaning  is  over;  to- 
bacco leaves  hang  in  close  touch  for  the  drying 
process ;  large  banks  of  sweet  potatoes  are  safely 
covered  from  frost,  waiting  the  roasting  time,  when 
all  Southern  fireplaces  are  heaped  with  glowing 
oaken  coals  that  roast  and  mellow  the  .sweet  yams. 

At  Stirlingate  Mrs.  Bickers  is  making  great  prep- 
arations for  her  son's  return.  The  finest  gobbler 
of  the  flock  is  doomed,  and  in  imitation  of  the  old 
French  women  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  Paris, 
Albina  promises  to  drop  a  stitch  in  her  knitting 
when  a  blow  of  Zenas'  hatchet  tumbles  a  gobbler's 
head  into  the  basket.  She  is  counting  the  hours 
before  Wallis'  ringing  whistle  will  echo  in  the  spa- 
cious halls.  Excited  and  nervous  with  expectation, 
she  continues  to  use  her  best  efforts  in  teaching  her 

60 


A   WOMAN'S    VOW  61 

black  pupils.  In  this  excitable  mood  she  tears  open 
a  New  York  paper,  sure  that  the  Dorogan  has  ar- 
rived. Great  headlines  flash  out :  "  The  Dorogan 
burned  at  sea.  Only  a  few  passengers  saved." 

Dazed  and  bewildered,  she  dismisses  her  scholars 
for  the  day,  and  hastens  to  Mrs.  Bickers  for  news, 
but  not  a  word  has  she  heard  of  the  safety  of  her 
son. 

Young,  and  full  of  hope,  Albina  convinces  herself 
that  Wallis  is  one  of  the  rescued.  She  recalls  his 
great  muscular  strength,  and  feels  sure  if  any  one 
could  ride  the  waves  to  safety  he  has  done  so. 

As  the  days  follow  each  other  in  quick  succession, 
bringing  no  news,  her  courage  fails,  and  overwhelm- 
ing feelings  of  dread  encompass  her.  The  frail 
reed  of  hope  in  her  soul  is  slowly  bending  to  the 
breaking  point. 

Meanwhile,  search  yachts  leave  New  York  har- 
bor to  rescue  the  survivors  of  the  Dorogan,  but  their 
mission  ends  in  disappointment,  for  they  find  only 
lifeless  forms  drifting  with  the  tide.  Securing  me- 
mentoes of  the  dead,  the  bodies  are  consigned  to 
coral  couches  in  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

A  telegram,  slightly  blurred,  found  in  a  Rus- 
sian leather  bag  attached  to  a  young  girl's  belt, 
gives  the  clue  to  two  of  the  dead.  It  reads : 

"  ALICE.     I  will  join  you  aboard  the  Dorogan. 


62  THE    RED    MOON 

I  have  the  precious  package,  also  an  English  dog 
for  your  acceptance." 

"WALLIS  B 

"  London,  Oct.  21st." 

A  reporter,  Jubal  Lane,  anxious  to  increase  the 
sale  of  his  paper,  with  vivid  imagination  seizes  upon 
the  fact  that  this  girl  was  found  tightly  clasped  in 
the  arms  of  a  man  with  a  life-preserver  about  him, 
cleverly  weaves  a  love  story  about  the  incident,  and 
with  telling  words  depicts  the  thrilling  scene  on  the 
angry  sea ;  pictures  lips  sealed  together  with  the 
kiss  of  love  in  death. 

Albina  reads  this  touching  account,  her  eyes 
dimmed  with  tears.  The  spelling  of  the  name  Wallis 
in  the  telegram  is  unusual,  and  so  with  a  quickened 
pulse  she  checks  off  the  six  symbols.  They  spell 
Bickers.  "  Wallis  Bickers,"  she  exclaims,  "  my  Wal- 
lis, and  Alice  Grey  he  met  in  London.  My  Wallis." 
A  hot  flush  mantles  her  cheeks  as  she  tries  to  re- 
read the  account,  sure  that  her  eyes  have  deceived 
her.  "  Wallis  has  forgotten  his  vows  of  love  to  me," 
she  says,  slowly,  "  else,  why  this  telegram  to  a  girl 
he  has  known  less  than  a  month?  'An  English  dog 
for  your  acceptance.'  He  has  revoked  the  gift  from 
me,  to  Alice  Grey.  She,  whose  soft  brown  eyes,  and 
mellow  voice  reminded  of  me !  Oh,  it  cannot  be ! 
I'm  dreaming  a  horrid  dream !  "  Again,  she  opens 


A   WOMAN'S    VOW  63 

the  crumpled  paper,  and  once  more  checks  off  the 
six  symbols  on  her  fingers.  "  Bickers.  Yes,  it's  true. 
He  also  mentions  the  precious  package  of  cotton 
seed  he  crossed  the  ocean  to  secure." 

In  a  frenzy  of  jealous  feeling  she  dashes  the  paper 
from  her.  "  He,  the  traitor,  has  been  away  less 
than  three  months,  and  in  that  short  space  has 
proved  false  to  his  vows  of  love  for  me.  He !  "  she 
almost  hisses  the  pronoun  through  her  teeth.  "  He 
— the  man  foolishly  believed  to  be  the  very  soul  of 
honor." 

In  the  quiet  of  many  sleepless  nights,  the  spiritual 
influence  of  her  godly  mother  comes  to  her  like  a 
balm,  and  she  murmurs,  "  Until  the  dawn  of  the 
millenium  women,  weak,  loving  women,  will  pin  their 
faith  to  the  words  of  a  man ;  the  idle  words  of  his 
love.  I  am  no  exception."  Gradually  the  color 
fades  from  her  cheeks  and  her  deep-set  brown  eyes 
seem  to  sink  deeper  into  their  sockets.  She  continues 
to  teach,  however,  but  all  enthusiasm  for  her  work 
has  died  and  she  realizes  her  inertness  when  her  little 
black  maid  asks :  "  Ain't  Miss  Albina  gwine  to  gib 
de  yaller  bird  any  .seed?  He  wings  is  drapped,  an' 
he  don't  sing  no  moe." 

Albina  has  forgotten  to  feed  her  pet,  the  parting 
gift  of  Wallis  Bickers. 

"  Walzie,  my  sweet  Walzie,  forgive  me  ?  Walzie, 
will  you  sing  for  me  ?  "  She  fills  the  seed  cup  with 


64  THE    RED   MOON 

trembling  hands,  bitter  thoughts  of  her  faithless 
lover  filling  her  heart.  Indeed,  the  sun  of  her  life 
has  gone  down,  down  on  the  horizon  of  her  hope, 
and  a  great  red  moon  of  disaster  rides  ever  in  view 
to  recall  the  prediction  of  the  Indian  squaw.  She 
dwells  on  the  fact :  "  I  will  not  need  seven  trials  to 
break  the  slender  reed  of  my  life.  Already  my  sun 
has  turned  to  blood,  surely  there  can  be  no  glorious 
sunset  for  me." 

In  the  midst  of  these  cruel  and  oppressive  hours 
there  are  moments  when  her  troubled  heart  again 
hears  her  mother's  voice,  like  the  gentle  breathing 
of  the  wind  over  rushes  on  the  water's  edge.  A 
faint  hope  sometimes  steals  over  her,  that  perhaps 
it  is  fiction.  Perhaps,  after  all,  -she  thinks,  Wallis 
is  safe,  and  if  safe,  surely,  surely  he  is  true  to  his 
vows. 

Mrs.  Baxter  writes,  imploring  her  daughter  to  re- 
sign her  duties  in  the  school  and  come  to  Santa  Bar- 
bara, where  her  father  has  removed  from  San  Fran- 
cisco. "  Come,"  she  writes,  "  come  where  the  Pacific 
gently  laps  the  sandy  beach  and  sunshine  and  roses 
vie  with  each  other  in  brilliancy ;  where  one  breathes 
the  refreshing  fragrance  of  pine,  mingled  with  the 
odor  of  lemon  and  orange  blossoms,  while  drowsy 
honeybees  hum  their  sleepy  murmur  so  calming  to 
tired  nerves." 

After    a    long    and    wearisome    journey    Albina 


A   WOMAN'S    VOW  65 

reaches  her  father's  home,  bright  with  flowers. 
Satan's  emissaries  continue  their  efforts  to  entice  her 
into  the  abyss  of  despair,  but  she  determines  they 
shall  have  a  hard  battle.  Gradually,  Albina  is  con- 
vinced that  Wallis  Bickers  has  not  been  rescued. 
With  courage  born  of  Christian  fortitude,  her  spirit 
bows  to  the  inevitable,  but  does  not  break.  Her 
mind  frequently  reverts  to  the  thought  of  the  kiss 
of  love  that  sealed  her  lover's  lips  cold  in  death. 
The  memory  rankles  in  her  heart,  and  causes  her 
many  sleepless  nights.  The  sunlight  of  perfect 
peace  might  be  rekindled  in  her  soul  with  the  assur- 
ance that  her  lover  was  true  to  his  vows. 

As  the  weeks  go  by,  black  lines  encircle  her  eyes, 
and  the  far-away  look  that  characterized  her 
as  a  child  is  intensified,  and  her  parents  note  this. 
Sitting  under  the  orange  trees,  Albina  asks  with 
feeling : 

"  Mother  dear,  do  you  think  the  cruel  heart- 
burnings I  have  now  will  cling  to  me  after  death? 
In  Paradise  when  I  meet  Wallis  and  Alice  Grey 
arm  in  arm,  even  there  will  my  soul  cry  out  in 
agony  over  his  faithlessness  ?  " 

Mrs.  Baxter  looks  up  from  her  father's  old  Bible 
open  on  her  lap.  "  My  daughter,  has  your  mother's 
careful  training  been  of  no  avail?  In  this  your 
time  of  trial  do  cling  to  the  words  of  this  book." 
Her  voice  is  full  of  sympathy  while  she  turns  the 


66  THE    RED    MOON 

leaves,  saying :  "  In  heaven  there  is  neither  hus- 
band nor  lover,  but  we  shall  be  one  in  the  bosom 
of  the  dear  Lord  and  Master." 

"  Then,  I  do  not  want  to  go  there !  If  I'm  to 
be  so  stupid  as  not  to  know  my  earthly  friends  from 
my  faithless  lover  it  is  no  place  of  joy  and  peace 
for  me.  Do  you  suppose  I  could  look  at  Wallis 
caressing  Alice,  and  not  be  filled  with  indignation? 
No!  I  could  not,  nor  do  I  want  to." 

Albina  plucks  the  petals  from  an  early  blooming 
rose  her  father  has  brought  her,  and  scatters  them 
over  her  frock. 

Mrs.  Baxter  remains  silent,  for  in  moments  of  in- 
tense feeling  one's  thoughts  are  best  uninterrupted. 
The  mind  at  rest,  the  clouds  may  blow  over. 

Day  by  day,  Albina  listens  to  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  the  waves,  as  they  wash  on  the  sandy  shore  in 
the  rear  of  her  father's  house.  At  times  lashed  into 
fury  by  western  gales,  the  incoming  tide  seems  to 
say,  "  False,  false ;  he  is  false !  "  The  sea,  sun- 
flecked  by  day,  at  night  sighs  and  mourns,  and 
seems  to  hint  that  away  off  in  a  shell-encrusted 
cavern  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  Wallis  Bickers  lies  en- 
folding to  his  bosom  Alice  Grey. 

With  the  realization  of  this  crushing  truth,  the 
bruised  reed  of  her  love  bends  again  almost  to  the 
breaking  point.  There  is  but  one  cure  for  Albina's 
malady,  one  chance  to  restore  her  equanimity,  and 


A   WOMAN'S    VOW  67 

that  is  in  work  for  others.  Her  philanthropic  mother 
advises  her  beloved  child  to  join  the  Women's  Chris- 
tian Temperance  Union,  and  she  consents. 

California's  rainy  season  is  about  over,  and  for 
six  months  not  a  drop  of  rain,  not  a  spray  of  water 
will  fall  to  moisten  the  thirsty  earth.  For  half  the 
year  mammoth  clouds  have  emptied  themselves  in 
downpours,  or  in  gentle  showers ;  now,  there  is  to  be 
a  time  of  unremitting  sunshine.  A  perfect  spring 
has  followed  on  the  heels  of  the  winter,  and  Santa 
Barbara  is  about  to  have  her  first  flower  show;  a 
Mardi  Gras  in  nature's  art,  instead  of  the  gay  tin- 
sel of  New  Orleans'  Creole  fete. 

The  town  is  thronged  with  visitors,  and  the  prin- 
cipal street  is  a  moving  mass  of  human  beings,  hur- 
rying from  side  to  side,  with  baskets  of  posies,  ready 
for  the  battle  of  flowers.  Even  Jonah  Baxter  is 
burdened  with  an  armful  of  roses.  No  one  enjoys 
gathering  a  nosegay  of  blossoms  more  than  he.  Ac- 
customed now  to  the  climatic  peculiarity  of  his 
adopted  country,  he  ceases  to  wonder  how  vegeta- 
tion flourishes  and  flowers  bloom  without  rain.  His 
one  anxiety  is  in  regard  to  the  health  of  his  visibly 
fading  "  California  poppy."  She  has  promised  to 
go  with  him  to  witness  the  carnival  of  flowers;  to 
see  the  gayly-decked  carriages  pass  up  and  down 
the  street  with  happy  occupants  enthroned  in  the 
midst  of  their  favorite  flowers. 


68  THE    RED    MOON 

The  morning  is  perfect,  and  the  air  sweet  and 
invigorating.  Seaward  not  a  cloud  flecks  the  soft 
blue  sky,  and  inland  the  thirsty  land  glows  with  a 
wealth  of  gold,  orange-  and  lemon-tinted  poppies 
that  bloom  in  wasteful  prodigality. 

In  a  day  or  two,  Albina  is  to  turn  her  face  away 
from  the  sweet  enchantments  of  her  Western  home, 
and  to  bend  her  energy  to  the  work  of  rescuing  the 
fallen.  Surrounded  by  a  babel  of  evil  in  the  slums 
of  a  great  city,  this  work  will  be  trying  to  one  so 
young,  and  one  with  the  allurements  of  wealth  to 
induce  idleness.  Albina,  however,  is  staunchly  loyal 
to  her  early  determination,  the  determination  that 
first  showed  its  vital  force,  when  as  a  child  she 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  help  "  Uncle  Tom  "  in  his 
abject  misery.  The  Civil  War  has  unfettered  his 
chains  of  servitude ;  and  now  she  seeks  to  free  others 
bound  by  the  degrading  desire  for  strong  drink,  a 
cruel  servitude. 

The  hilarity  of  the  flower  show  is  at  its  height, 
when,  unnoticed,  Albina  slips  away  from  her  father 
and  the  crowd.  She  longs  for  the  quiet  of  the  sea- 
shore. She  is  firm  in  her  determination  to  banish 
all  harrowing  recollections  of  the  disaster  to  the  ill- 
fated  Dorogan,  when  her  young  life  was  robbed  of 
its  sweet  dreams  of  joy  and  happiness.  Alone,  she 
stands  on  the  shore,  gazing  westward,  where  imper- 
ceptibly sky  and  water  mingle.  The  tide  is  creep- 


A   WOMAN'S    VOW  69 

ing  treacherously  near  and  nearer  to  her  shoe  tips 
as  it  caresses  the  willing  sand. 

In  a  trance  of  thought,  Albina  stands  lost  to  the 
tangible  things  of  earth.  Peering  through  the  inde- 
scribable splendor  of  the  overarched  sky,  and  down 
beyond  the  embroidered  azure  of  the  horizon  that 
sparkles  with  the  glint  of  the  sun  like  gleams  of 
gold  and  yellow,  her  imagination,  enhanced  by  a 
spiritual  influence,  now  discerns,  as  it  were,  a  reef 
of  snow-white  coral,  and  resting  as  if  asleep,  lies 
Wallis.  Silvery  fish  play  about  his  form,  and  sea- 
weed drapes  his  couch,  but  no  fair  young  creature 
lies  enfolded  to  his  bosom.  She  strains  her  eyes  to 
be  sure  that  he  lies  there  alone.  Assured  of  this, 
she  calls  aloud :  "  Wallis !  Wallis  !  tell  me,  are  you 
true  to  your  vows  of  love  for  me?  Answer  me  yes, 
or  no.  I  will  be  content,  whatever  it  be." 

She  listens,  and  imperceptibly  the  angels  of  peace 
and  consecration  draw  near,  and  the  white-winged 
throng  infuse  into  Albina's  mind  a  new  strength,  a 
strength  that  nerves  her  heart,  and  brings  a  smile 
to  her  sad  face.  For  she  feels  convinced  that  her 
lover  is  true  to  his  vows. 

Then,  Albina,  in  a  trance  of  joy,  kneels  upon  the 
soft  sand,  and  lifts  her  hands  to  heaven.  "  Ocean, 
cease  your  tireless  moan.  I  would  have  my  beloved 
Wallis  hear  my  vow.  Oh,  my  God,  here  in  the  clear 
sunlight  of  love,  I  dedicate  my  life  and  my  wealth 


70  THE    RED    MOON 

to  the  comfort  of  the  sorrowing,  the  help  of  the 
needy.  Once  flowers  bloomed  in  my  earthly  garden, 
but  the  greedy  Atlantic  has  swallowed  up  my  last 
hope  of  happiness.  Henceforth  my  energy  shall  be 
used  for  the  benefit  of  others.  O  God,  keep  me  as 
a  chosen  medium  of  Thy  power." 

In  the  trees  nearby  there  sounds  the  twitter  of 
birds  consulting  over  the  nest  for  a  coming  brood, 
and  suddenly  a  mighty  shout  rends  the  air,  as  a 
chorus  of  rejoicing  echoes  the  acclaim  that  the  blue 
ribbon  decorates  the  chosen  carriage  of  the  carnival 
of  roses. 


CHAPTER    VI 

ALBINA'S  FOURTH  TRIAL 

"  Of  all  the  treasures  that  God  has  bestowed  upon 
mankind,  sympathy  is  the  purest  jewel." 

AFTER  many  struggles  the  indomitable  pluck  of 
the  Western  pioneer,  coupled  with  the  energy  of 
the  East,  has  encircled  America  with  steel  rails. 
The  last  spike,  a  golden  one,  is  driven  into  place; 
and  the  two  sections — East  and  West — shake  hands 
in  rejoicing  over  the  union  of  their  iron  roadway. 

At  best,  railroad  traveling  is  irksome,  and  Albina, 
to  break  the  journey,  accepts  an  invitation  to  spend 
a  month  or  more  with  a  school  friend  residing  in 
Chicago,  that  wonderful  city  that  by  magical  hands 
sprang  into  being  in  a  night.  Where  Indians  once 
wielded  their  tomahawks  and  settlers  built  their 
huts,  is  now  a  modern  city,  up  to  date  in  vice,  as 
well  as  prosperity.  Good  and  evil  flourish  side  by 
side.  Albina  has  quite  resolved  to  locate  and  begin 
her  chosen  work  with  the  Women's  Christian  Tem- 
perance Union  in  this  Western  city. 

Albina  is  devotedly  attached  to  her  friend's  baby 
boy,  Bennie  Bowles,  for  he  diverts  her  mind,  and  so 

71 


72  THE    RED   MOON 

she  prolongs  her  visit.  Mrs.  Bowles  is  constantly 
"  on  the  go,"  but  she  has  never  prevailed  upon  her 
visitor  to  mingle  in  her  gay  life.  She  prefers  to 
cuddle  Bennie  in  her  arms  and  lull  him  to  sleep 
with  old-time  crooning  songs  learned  in  Virginia: 

"  Oh,  my  dearest  May, 
You're  lovely  as  the  day. 
Your  eyes  so  bright 
They  shine  at  night 
When  the  moon  has  gone  away. 

(Chorus) 

Then  row  away,  row 
O'er  the  water  so  blue. 
Like   a    feather   we'll    float 
In  our  gum-tree  canoe." 

The  summer  has  passed  rapidly,  and  it  is  now 
the  first  week  of  October.  From  the  prairies  come 
hot  blasts  of  air,  as  if  blown  from  a  furnace,  in- 
creasing the  concentrated  heat  of  the  city.  Bennie 
is  feverish,  restless,  and  fretful.  Mrs.  Bowles,  like 
many  other  society  women,  has  cast  from  her  the 
sweetest  joy  of  motherhood,  those  precious  moments 
when  a  baby  hand  rests  upon  its  mother's  bosom,  and 
lips  like  velvet  seek  the  God-given  well-springs  of 
life.  Bennie  is  relegated  to  a  foster-mother  who 
but  recently  arrived  from  Ireland,  and,  not  being 
accustomed  to  the  heat  of  America,  is  ill.  The  foot- 
man goes  in  search  of  fresh  milk  for  the  baby. 


ALBINA'S    FOURTH    TRIAL  73 

"  Good  evening,  Mistress  O'Leary.  The  little 
marster  is  crying,  and  not  even  Miss  Albina  can 
sing  him  to  sleep.  Will  you  milk  me  a  quart  of 
fresh  milk?  " 

"  Faith  and  sure  it's  a  late  time  to  be  comin'  for 
milk  and  the  night  as  hot  as  the  devil's  kitchen." 

Mrs.  O'Leary  places  her  round-globed  spectacles 
on  the  table,  and  mops  her  face  with  a  red  hand- 
kerchief, saying,  "  It's  late  to  be  a-milking,  but  sure 
my  mother's  heart  can't  let  a  baby  cry  for  a  drop 
of  milk." 

With  a  milking  pail  and  a  small  lamp  she  enters 
the  cow  stall.  A  plaintive  Moo!  Moo!  greets  her. 
On  Daisy's  nose  are  beads  of  moisture,  while  per- 
sistdntly  she  laps  her  rough  tongue  into  her  nostrils ; 
her  tail  in  constant  motion  switching  the  flies  from 
her  sides.  One  unfortunate  switch,  and  over  goes 
the  lamp — and  in  an  instant  the  straw  is  ablaze. 

Church  bell  after  church  bell  sounds  the  alarm, 
for  the  fire  spreads  rapidly.  From  the  prairies 
rushes  a  hot  blast,  which,  meeting  a  current  of  air, 
lifts  sheets  of  fire  from  street  to  street,  and  they 
roll  about  like  waves  of  the  sea.  The  leaves  of  burn- 
ing books  blow  about  like  falling  stars.  House  after 
house  totters  into  ruins,  sending  forth  a  rumbling 
sound  as  of  distant  thunder,  a  roar  of  wild  beasts 
turned  loose  to  riot  in  exasperated  fury. 

From  every  direction  come  the  screams  and  cries 


74  THE    RED    MOON 

of  human  beings,  dazed  and  frantic ;  or  helpless,  and 
hopeless.  In  the  densely  crowded  alley-ways  where 
the  poor  herd  like  cattle,  the  bewilderment  of  the 
helpless  and  excitement  of  the  children  touch  many  a 
stout  heart. 

In  this  veritable  carnival  of  hell  many  daredevils 
risk  freely  their  lives  with  the  hope  of  securing 
money  or  valuables,  while  strong  men,  suffocated  by 
smoke  and  hot  vapors,  leave  the  richest  treasures  of 
home,  conscious  of  but  one  desire — a  place  of  safety. 
The  work  of  the  fire  engines  is  mere  child  play; 
and  police  officers  fail  to  cope  with  the  emissaries 
of  Satan. 

Realizing  the  danger,  Albina  hugs  little  Bennie 
Bowles  to  her  bosom  and  seeks  his  father  and  mother, 
without  avail.  Beside  the  lake  seems  the  only  place 
one  can  hope  to  breathe,  and  while  standing  there 
the  distressed  voice  of  a  mother  startles  Albina.  Her 
first  thought  prompts  her  to  hurry  away,  but,  real- 
izing her  life  is  dedicated  to  the  relief  of  the  dis- 
tressed, she  gropes  in  the  smoky  street,  guided  by 
the  pleading  voice  which  cries,  "  Captain,  mate,  -some 
one  find  my  daughter.  She  is  lost,  and  I  am  man- 
ning the  boat  trying  to  save  her."  Then,  the  same 
voice  pleads,  "Alice,  Alice  Grey,  answer  your 
mother!  Where  are  you?"  Instantly  the  sting  of 
that  green-eyed  monster,  jealousy,  sends  the  blood 
tingling  through  Albina's  veins.  Only  a  simple 


75 

name,  but  one  closely  connected  with  the  crushing 
of  her  own  fondest  hopes  in  life. 

Finding  the  woman,  Albina  whispers  in  her  ear, 
"  Will  you  be  comforted  when  I  tell  you  Alice  is 
safe?  She  is  where  no  flames  can  reach  her." 

This  comforting  assurance  is  greeted  by  a  mean- 
ingless laugh. 

"  You  say  she  is  safe,  safe  in  this  blazing  fur- 
nace? She  would  be  safer  in  mid-ocean.  Oh,  help 
me  to  man  the  boat.  Now  then,  let  us  row,  row 
for  our  lives." 

Gradually,  Mrs.  Grey's  voice  grows  feeble,  and  a 
numbness  creeps  over  her  prostrate  body,  for  the 
candle  of  life  flickers,  and  the  flame  goes  out  for- 
ever, as  she  whispers  softly,  "  Alice,  Alice  dear,  we 
are  safe." 

Albina  in  the  meantime  has  -sought  the  lake-shore 
for  the  safety  of  the  sleeping  babe  in  her  arms.  She 
essays  to  rouse  the  boy,  but  Bennie  Bowles  gives  no 
sign.  He  is  asleep,  and  will  open  his  eyes  in  the 
green  pasture  lands  of  Heaven. 

Standing  there  dumb  with  amazement,  Albina  sees 
the  setting  sun  across  the  lake  gleaming  like  a  red 
moon  through  the  weird  and  hazy  atmosphere  of  a 
great  city  that  is  now  a  heap  of  glowing  coals  and 
desolated  homes. 


CHAPTER    VII 

ALBINA'S  FAITH  AWAKENS 

"  When  my  heart  is  crushed  with  anguish 

And  the  waters  reach  the  brim; 
Faith  can  sing  the  mighty  chorus, 
Like  some  glorious  battle  hymn." 

SIMPSON. 

SOON  after  Bennie's  death  Albina  leaves  Chicago 
for  New  York,  with  the  hope  that  her  unstrung 
nerves  may  regain  vigor.  On  the  horizon  of  her 
horoscope,  the  red  moon  of  her  destiny  never  goes 
down,  never  gives  a  respite,  never  promises  better 
days  when  free  from  trials. 

With  the  strength  of  a  consecrated  life  she  en- 
gages in  work  in  the  slums  of  America's  greatest 
city.  After  some  years  of  work,  mentally  weary,  the 
natural  consequence  of  her  work,  she  plans  to  visit 
her  father's  home.  Varied  trials  have  bent,  but  not 
broken,  her  supple  mind;  a  steadfast  faith  in  God, 
the  anchor  sustains  her  under  all  circumstances. 
Daily  forgetful  of  herself,  she  is  ever  on  the  alert, 
watching  the  downward  career  of  those  who  have 
lost  the  rudder  of  their  life-boat  and  must  be 

76 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  77 

swamped  unless  a  helping  hand  is  extended  to  them. 
Others,  she  finds  plunging  headlong  into  forbidden 
pleasures.  In  their  garden  of  life  roses  once  bloomed ; 
now,  their  hopes  for  the  future  are  dead.  With  deli- 
cate intuition,  too  subtle  for  words,  Albina  pleads 
with  strong  men  whose  red  and  swollen  eyes  betray 
their  besetting  sin ;  she  tries  to  awaken  their  minds 
to  touch  the  chords  of  love  in  their  memory,  with  the 
gentle  pleadings  of  a  mother,  or  a  sister's  tender 
words. 

Her  plans  are  finally  arranged  for  a  rest  at  home, 
away  from  the  greedy  hordes  of  the  metropolis,  when 
a  telegram  announces  a  tragedy  on  the  peaceful, 
sun-flecked  streets  of  Santa  Barbara.  Hastening  to 
her  mother's  side,  she  finds  that  her  father  has  been 
seriously  injured  by  runaway  horses,  and  thrown 
against  a  telegraph  pole  in  front  of  his  beautiful 
home. 

The  metaphorical  reed  of  her  life  is  now  bent  to 
the  breaking  point.  With  wild  pleadings  she  im- 
plores her  father  to  call  her  his  "  California  poppy," 
but  he  gives  no  response.  Like  the  great  soul  of 
Stonewall  Jackson,  he  crosses  the  river,  and  rests 
under  the  shade  of  the  trees  of  Paradise. 

After  some  weeks,  Albina  feels  that  both  her 
mother  and  herself  need  new  scenes,  new  associations. 
She  eventually  induces  Mrs.  Baxter  to  leave  her 
home  where  the  deadly  telegraph  pole  is  ever  in 


78  THE    RED    MOON 

sight.  They  plan  to  settle  permanently  in  New 
York.  Before  leaving,  beside  her  father's  newly 
made  grave,  Albina  renews  her  vows  of  dedication 
to  the  welfare  of  others.  She  is  now  an  heiress,  but 
simple  in  dress  and  manners.  Not  even  strangers 
call  her  Miss  Baxter.  It  is  "  Miss  Albina,"  that  is 
all. 

Neither  time  nor  money  can  ever  drown  the  requiem 
of  her  dead  hopes,  and  each  year  on  the  anniversary 
of  the  sinking  of  the  Dorogan  she  allows  herself  to 
be  sad.  One  evening  in  the  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  she  permits  herself  to  dwell  upon  what  might 
have  been,  but  for  the  red  moon  of  misfortune  which 
follows  her.  On  the  morrow  she  will  bravely  stifle 
all  reminiscences  of  the  past,  with  hope  that  the 
glorious  going  down  of  her  sun  may  be  "  bright  as 
day"  in  her  work  for  others.  During  the  bitterly 
cold  months  of  the  winter,  and  with  the  advent  of 
spring  flowers,  she  redoubles  her  energy;  nor  does 
her  work  cease  until  the  heat  compels  her  to  seek, 
with  her  mother,  a  respite  in  the  White  Mountains. 

Refreshed  from  their  outing,  Mrs.  Baxter  and  her 
daughter  are  once  more  in  their  Madison  Avenue 
home,  and  shut  away  in  her  own  room  Albina,  on 
the  foggy,  dismal  night  of  November  fifth,  gives 
free  scope  to  her  thoughts ;  thoughts  such  as  every 
woman  may  indulge  in ;  recalls  how  in  the  fervor  of 
a  strong  love  Wallis  embraced  her  in  parting,  vow- 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  79 

ing  to  be  true  to  her  until  death.  For  the  moment 
not  a  shadow  obscures  her  faith,  her  soul  is  in  sweet 
communion  with  that  of  her  dead  lover;  and  she  con- 
vinces herself  that  he  was  always  loyal  to  her. 

This  sad  reverie  is  interrupted  by  a  telegram, 
which  reads :  "  The  '  Wallis  Bickers  '  cot  in  the 
Richmond  (Virginia)  hospital,  endowed  by  Colonel 
Furgerson,  is  occupied,  for  the  first  time,  by  a  frail 
young  Southern  girl."  Later  there  comes  an  urgent 
request  for  help,  a  call  for  Albina  to  visit  a  dying 
man.  She  follows  the  young  lad  who  seeks  her  aid. 
They  go  up  two  flights,  into  a  small  room  on 
Eleventh  Street,  East,  near  the  river,  and  then  she 
realizes  the  urgency  of  the  case.  The  house  is  dark 
and  cold,  and  the  sound  of  drunken  revelry  comes 
from  the  rooms  below. 

With  the  unmistakable  air  of  good  birth,  a  woman 
rises  to  welcome  Albina.  This,  her  only  home,  has 
not  a  comfort,  not  a  handful  of  coal,  and  only  one 
small  oil  stove  for  cooking  and  heating  purposes. 
On  the  table  lies  a  half  loaf  of  stale  bread,  the  re- 
mains of  a  hasty  supper.  Everything  shows  the 
most  abject  poverty,  yet  shows,  too,  the  care  of  a 
refined  hand.  The  utmost  neatness  and  cleanliness 
prevail.  The  woman's  face  is  lined  with  deep  fur- 
rows, evidently  not  stamped  there  by  the  sculpturing 
hand  of  time;  they  reveal  the  signet  of  suffering. 
Though  she  is  yet  in  the  prime  of  life,  her  abun- 


80  THE    RED    MOON 

dant  hair  is  snow  white.  In  her  arms  she  holds  a 
golden-haired  baby,  whose  father,  by  reason  of  a 
courteous  manner,  and  gifted  pen,  was  once  an  orna- 
ment to  society.  The  victim  of  an  appetite  for 
strong  drink,  he  lies  now  on  a  bed  of  death,  in  a 
home  of  poverty,  and  he  has  dragged  his  wife  and 
child  down  to  poverty. 

It  is  none  other  than  Jubal  Lane,  the  talented 
New  York  newspaper  reporter  who  some  years  ago 
graphically  depicted  the  scenes  connected  with  the 
loss  of  the  Dorogan,  and  he,  too,  deciphered  the 
telegram  to  "  Alice."  Mr.  Lane  tries  to  greet  Al- 
bina,  but  his  tongue  is  heavy.  As  the  night  grows 
old  his  spirit  passes  through  the  gate  which  opens 
but  once  for  king  or  peasant. 

Touched  by  the  condition  of  Mrs.  Lane  and  her 
baby,  Albina  takes  them  to  her  home,  where  in  a 
short  time  the  little  boy,  properly  nourished,  sweetly 
coos  with  infantile  delight,  and  day  by  day,  in  mo- 
ments of  tender  retrospection,  Albina  assures  herself 
that  the  spirit  of  Bennie  Bowles  has  returned  in 
another  form,  and  wearing  other  features,  so  the 
baby  wins  her  love. 

Mrs.  Lane,  too,  proves  a  good  worker  in  the 
Women's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  and  is  made 
welcome  in  Mrs.  Baxter's  home.  No  wonder  that  in 
time  the  lines  about  her  face  are  less  deep,  and  her 
cheeks  pink  with  the  bloom  of  health,  in  vivid  con- 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  81 

trast  with  her  former  pallor,  the  condition  of  a 
poorly  nourished  body.  Her  womanly  heart  shows 
her  appreciation  of  her  blessings  by  devotion  to  Al- 
bina,  and  her  life  work. 

Prosperity  tests  a  man  or  woman  far  more  than 
adversity.  One  who  can  withstand  the  enticements 
of  pleasure,  can  bear  the  pangs  of  hunger. 

Mrs.  Lane  proves  her  strength  of  mind  both  in 
the  valley  of  want  and  on  the  mountain-top  of 
plenty.  There  is  really  no  experience  which  teaches 
us  successfully  to  minister  to  the  needs  of  others 
like  the  fact  that  we  ourselves  have  suffered.  Albina 
and  Mrs.  Lane,  akin  in  suffering,  sit  beside  an  even- 
ing lamp  reading,  while  the  golden-haired  baby 
sleeps  upon  its  mother's  knee. 

Presently  Albina  looks  up. 

"  Mrs.  Lane,  I  have  wondered "  She  pauses, 

for  her  voice  .suddenly  fails.  Then  she  controls  her- 
self and  continues :  "  I  wonder  if  our  baby," — she 
always  speaks  of  the  child  with  this  loving  pronoun, 
— "  has  a  middle  name,  and  if  so,  are  you  willing 
to  use  it?  " 

Mrs.  Lane  is  surprised  by  this  singular  request, 
but  she  lays  her  book  down  and  gently  strokes  the 
temples  of  her  sleeping  boy,  saying,  "  Wallis !  "  She 
says  it  with  simple  sweetness.  "  Wallis !  I  love  the 
sound  of  each  syllable,  but,  Miss  Albina,  to  please 
you, — our  best  friend, — I  will  use  his  other  name." 


82  THE    RED    MOON 

Saying  this,  she  presses  the  child  to  her  bosom,  and 
kisses  it.  She  is  struggling  with  memories  of  the 
past,  and  replies :  "  Our  baby's  name  is  Wallis  Bee, 
after  a  dear  friend  of  my  girlhood." 

A  slight  tremor  shakes  Albina's  voice  as  she  asks, 
"  Mrs.  Lane,  why  do  you  spell  baby's  name  with 
*  i-s  '  instead  of  the  Scotch  '  a-c-e  '  ?  Is  there  a  rea- 
son for  this  mode  of  spelling  a  common  name?" 

Mrs.  Lane  hesitates  for  a  moment,  as  a  keen  and 
poignant  pain  rushes  through  her  heart. 

"  Miss  Albina,  do  not  ask  me  to  reveal  this  hidden 
secret.  I  have  no  right  to  mar  the  sweet  tran- 
quillity of  your  useful  life  by  uncovering  the  tragedy 
of  my  own.  It  is  now  buried  forever;  let  it  rest. 
Kindest  of  friends,  you  already  know  that  the  years 
of  my  married  life  were  full  of  weariness  and  sad- 
ness, and  sometimes  I  am  convinced  that  it  was  my 
just  due,  for  the  thoughtlessness  and  apparent  heart- 
lessness  of  my  girlhood.  Oh,  I  was  of  such  a  jealous 
disposition !  " 

Mrs.  Lane  weeps,  while  Albina  tries  to  soothe  her, 
saying :  "  Let  me  share  your  trials  with  you,  thus 
making  them  lighter?  Remember  when  Pandora 
opened  her  box  all  the  evils  escaped,  but  Hope  re- 
mained. Let  us  then  retain  this  choice  privilege, 
and  though  the  past  may  have  been  dark  for  both 
of  us,  we  can  still  hope,  and  cheer  others."  A  tinge 
of  color  rushes  over  Albina's  usually  pale  face  as 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  83 

the  recollection  of  her  own  suffering  comes  to  mind. 
Suppressing  the  emotion  that  racks  her  heart,  she 
says :  "  We  must  be  self-sacrificing,  else  our  gifts 
are  valueless." 

Mrs.  Lane  brightens  up  at  these  words  of  encour- 
agement. "  Yes,  I  will  tell  you  why  I  named  my 
little  Wallis  Bee  after  one  from  whom  I  still  long  to 
have  news.  True,  I  am  a  heart-broken  woman,  and 
but  for  this  sweet  gift  of  a  baby  I  should  to-day 
be  inconsolable.  Miss  Albina,  in  my  girlhood  I  was 
betrothed  to  a  young  man,  a  graduate  of  Amherst 
College.  He  was  an  only  child,  and  his  father  was 
dead.  I  loved  him  with  all  the  force  of  my  nature, 
and  some  years  ago,  when  he  went  to  Europe,  I 
promised  him  with  my  farewell  kiss  that  I  would 
marry  him  as  soon  as  he  returned.  While  he  was 
away,  I  was  like  one  forsaken ;  I  had  no  relatives  in 
the  North,  and  so  our  engagement  was  kept  a  secret 
even  from  our  dearest  friends.  We  neither  of  us  had 
many  relations.  To  human  eyes  not  a  cloud  flecked 
our  horizon.  We  were  madly  in  love  with  each  other. 
I  recall  to  this  day  that  the  moon  shone  in  full  glory 
as  we  walked  up  Fifth  Avenue,  the  night  before  he 
sailed,  when  we  each  vowed  to  be  true  until  death. 
Alas !  Miss  Albina,  I  who  made  that  vow,  broke  it 
in  a  thoughtless  and  unpardonable  manner." 

Albina  is  touched  by  Mrs.  Lane's  condemnation 
of  herself,  and  she  tries  to  comfort  her,  but  Mrs. 


84  THE    RED    MOON 

Lane  replies :  "  No,  dear  friend,  I  deserve  no  pity. 
God  knows  my  sunless  days  are  my  just  reward." 

Then  she  goes  on  with  her  story :  "  It  was  time 
for  my  lover  to  return,  and  a  happy-hearted  girl 
I  was  as  I  went  from  store  to  store  selecting  my 
wedding  gowns,  for  we  were  to  be  married  ere  the 
new  year  was  born. 

"  Late  in  October,  I  had  a  few  hurried  lines  from 
my  fiance  stating  that  he  had  decided  to  sail  earlier 
than  November,  the  first  date  fixed  upon.  He  said 
not  one  word  about  his  joy  over  the  prospect  of  our 
meeting,  nor  yet  of  our  marriage.  Naturally  jeal- 
ous, I  re-read  the  letter,  hoping  to  find  a  note  of 
gladness  that  he  would  soon  be  with  me,  but  there 
was  not  a  word;  only  a  postscript  to  say  how  pleas- 
ant his  trip  would  be,  for  '  Alice  '  was  booked  by 
the  same  ship.  I  asked  myself  who  this  Alice  could 
be,  that  she  could  make  my  lover  happy?  A  shiver 
of  coming  evil  rushed  over  me,  and  I  drew  near  the 
grate,  for  we  had  our  first  fire  of  the  season.  And 
there,  in  the  midst  of  the  glowing  coal,  I  distinctly 
saw  outlined  a  woman's  face  with  a  broad-brimmed 
hat.  Instantly  I  snatched  up  the  poker  and  crushed 
in  the  head,  saying,  '  It  serves  you  right,  Alice, 
you  who  have  supplanted  me.'  " 

Mrs.  Lane  shudders  as  she  recalls  her  youthful 
impetuosity.  Her  little  boy  stirs  in  his  sleep,  and  as 
she  hugs  him  to  her  bosom,  she  asks :  "  Miss  Al- 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  85 

bina,  do  you  believe  that  our  intuition  carries  our 
minds  far  beyond  the  finite,  and  reveals  to  us  the 
secrets  of  the  future?  I  was  convinced  that  picture 
in  the  fire  was  sent  to  warn  me  of  my  rival,  Alice. 

"  My  eyes  were  opened  to  the  fallacy  of  this  the- 
ory, after  it  was  too  late.  Miss  Albina,  do  you  re- 
member some  years  ago  the  old  vessel  Dorogan  was 
lost  at  sea,  within  twenty-four  hours  out  from  New 
York?  My  Wallis  was  booked  as  one  of  her  pas- 
sengers." 

Albina  makes  an  effort  to  rise  from  her  chair,  but 
turns  deadly  pale  and  sinks  back  into  her  seat,  say- 
ing, "Oh,  God,  help  us!" 

With  pain  Mrs.  Lane  sees  the  effect  of  her  words. 
She  leans  forward,  saying :  "  Miss  Albina,  it  is  cruel 
for  me  to  oppress  you  with  the  story  of  my  life. 
Try,  dear  friend,  to  overlook  my  girlish  impetuosity. 
I  never  had  the  tender  care  of  a  mother,  and  was 
spoiled  and  petted  by  my  father." 

Albina  is  thinking  of  her  own  lover  in  a  new 
light,  that  of  a  heartless  flirt.  It  is  now  evident 
that  he  was  engaged  to  Mrs.  Lane — Jessie  Lea  of 
Maryland — before  the  renewal  of  their  acquaintance 
at  Stirlingate,  where  he  wooed  and  won  her  young 
heart.  Later,  in  London,  evidently  he  sought  the 
affection  of  Alice  Grey,  only  to  clasp  her  to  his 
bosom  in  death.  Indignant  over  this  revelation, 
she  assures  herself  that  the  traitor  Wallis  well  de- 


86  THE    RED    MOON 

served  his  fate  for  toying  with  the  hearts  of  three 
women. 

Mrs.  Lane  gently  strokes  her  baby's  curls,  as  if 
the  very  touch  gives  her  fresh  courage  to  continue: 

"  My  flush  of  jealousy  cooled  as  I  scanned  the 
daily  papers  for  news  of  the  Dorogan.  I  counted 
the  hours  till  she  was  due,  for  I  was  desperately  in 
love  with  Wallis.  Imagine  my  consternation  one 
morning,  reading  in  a  New  York  paper  this  news: 
'  The  Dorogan  has  been  lost  at  sea ;  only  a  few 
passengers  saved  by  a  sailing-vessel.'  It  was  a  ter- 
rible shock,  but  I  continued  to  read  the  morning  and 
evening  papers,  hoping  to  find  Wallis's  name  in  the 
lists  of  the  saved.  You  know,  when  the  heart  is 
young  it  is  buoyant  and  hopeful.  I  was  sure  that 
Wallis  was  stranded  on  some  lone  island,  like  Rob- 
inson Crusoe  was,  and  I  was  confident  that  he  was 
thinking  of  me.  '  Hope  deferred  makes  the  heart 
sick,'  and  I  became  restless  and  nervous,  and  day 
after  day  I  called  at  one  of  the  newspaper  offices 
for  additional  news.  Mr.  Jubal  Lane,  the  principal 
reporter,  always  came  himself  to  give  me  the  details. 
He  was  touched  by  my  distress,  and  gained  my  per- 
mission to  call  at  my  boarding  place,  in  case  he 
heard  anything  of  importance.  After  the  search 
yachts  returned  I  knew  I  could  not  hope  any  longer. 
Then  it  was  that  a  telegram  was  found  in  a  dead 
girl's  leathern  bag  that  burnt  itself  into  my  mind 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  87 

as  if  graven  there  with  a  fine  steel  point.  It  read: 
'  Alice — J  will  join  you  aboard  the  Dorogan.  I  have 
the  precious  package,  also  an  English  dog  for  your 

acceptance,'  and  it  was  signed,  *  Wallis  B ' 

For  a  moment  I  believe  I  lost  consciousness,  so 
fiercely  did  jealousy  burn  in  my  heart.  The  graph- 
ically written  article  depicted  the  two  enfolded  in 
each  other's  arms,  as  if  they  were  lovers.  Was  this 
man  who  signed  the  telegram  with  dots  my  Wallis, 
who  used  symbols  always  to  his  name  in  my  letters? 
With  trembling  fingers  I  checked  them  off,  and  to 
my  horror  they  spelt  my  darling's  name.  This  fact, 
or  tragedy,  seems  to  have  fixed  itself  in  my  mind, 
much  as  a  murderer  is  photographed  upon  the  retina 
of  his  victim's  eye;  for,  even  to  this  day,  it  comes 
to  my  view." 

Albina's  head  droops  low,  and  lower,  and  finally 
rests  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  her  hands  fall 
like  leaden  weights  into  her  lap.  The  recollection 
of  all  she  has  suffered  through  the  perfidy  of  one 
man,  for  the  moment  dulls  her  sensibility.  She 
raises  her  head  in  an  instant,  resolved  not  to  be 
unnerved  by  the  details  Mrs.  Lane  has  narrated. 
Up  to  this  hour  she  has  never  fully  convinced  her- 
self that  Wallis  was  untrue  to  her.  To-night  she 
spurns  the  very  thought  of  a  man  who  could  stoop 
to  make  love  to  three  women  at  the  same  time, 
showing  himself  utterly  unworthy  of  any  true-hearted 


88  THE    RED   MOON 

woman's  love.  The  expression  of  her  face,  usually 
as  mobile  as  the  sea,  represents  now  a  cold  statue  in 
marble  on  which  the  sculptor  depicts  proud  defiance, 
and  makes  the  face  insensible  to  the  tender  emotion 
of  love,  pity,  or  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Lane  is  dwelling  on  the  thoughts  of  her  own 
experience,  and  picks  up  the  thread  of  her  story 
where  she  was  interrupted,  and  she  goes  on  to  the 
end,  not  noticing  Albina's  fixed  .stare,  an  expression 
unlike  her  gentle,  loving  solicitude  and  interest  for 
others  in  distress. 

"  Miss  Albina,  can  you  realize  the  weary  hours  of 
anxiety,  hoping  against  hope,  for  news  of  my  be- 
loved Wallis?  When  he  was  depicted  as  the  lover  of 
another,  I  put  on  a  mask  of  indifference,  crushing 
my  feelings,  and  entered  society.  Among  the  young 
people  Mr.  Lane  was  a  great  favorite.  In  his  viva- 
cious presence,  the  remembrance  of  my  former  hap- 
piness was  obscured  as  if  by  a  thick  veil.  Mr.  Lane's 
magnetic  power  held  me,  and  a  cold  cynicism  envel- 
oped my  being.  Later,  to  my  horror,  I  detected 
that  he  ferreted  out  my  love  for  Wallis,  and  he 
fanned  into  flame  my  jealousy  of  Alice." 

The  recollection  of  her  broken  life  fills  Mrs.  Lane 
with  emotion,  and  she  bows  her  head. 

"  Oh !  Miss  Albina,  need  I  repeat  the  sequel ;  you 
know  somewhat  of  the  hours  of  bitter  remorse  that 
followed.  It  will  ever  remain  a  mystery  how,  and 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  89 

why,  I  married  Mr.  Lane  in  the  bridal  robes  pre- 
pared for  my  nuptials  with  Wallis.  Soon,  Mr.  Lane 
took  to  drink  to  drown  the  injustice  done  me.  Miss 
Albina,  have  you  ever  felt  the  power  of  a  hypno- 
tist? "  and  Mrs.  Lane  looks  up  with  a  questioning 
appeal  in  her  eyes. 

A  cathedral  clock  on  the  mantel-shelf  chimes  the 
hour  of  ten,  its  deep  soft  tones  echoing  through 
the  room,  over  which  the  pall  of  death  seems  to  have 
settled.  The  child  stretches  its  little  arms  above  its 
curly  head,  and  thus  recalled  to  that  first  question, 
about  the  baby's  name,  his  mother  says: 

"  At  Amherst  College  there  were  two  students 
who  spelled  their  names  Wallis  with  the  '  i-s  '  instead 
of  the  usual  Wallace,  and  so,  to  distinguish  them, 
one  was  called  Wallis  B.  This  was  my  Wallis,  and 
in  fun  he  added  six  symbols  to  his  name  as  his  hive 
of  bees.  You  know  how  little  it  takes  to  make  mer- 
riment with  a  lot  of  college  boys.  Miss  Albina,  by 
some  magical  power  you  have  secured  the  key  to 
the  innermost  chamber  of  my  heart,  and  now  I  am 
freely  spreading  out  the  most  sacred  jewels  of  my 
life  secrets  for  you  to  ponder  over.  It  may  ease 
my  heart-ache." 

In  deep  contrition,  the  outcome  of  a  painful  ex- 
perience, Mrs.  Lane  goes  on: 

"  Miss  Albina,  it  was  not  my  Wallis  who  was  lost 
at  sea,  but " 


90  THE    RED    MOON 

Albina  grasps  her  hand,  and  holds  it  in  a  vise- 
like  grip.  She  does  not  wait  for  the  finished  sen- 
tence: "  Wallis  was  not  lost  at  sea?  Then  he  still 
lives  !  Oh,  Mrs.  Lane,  tell  me  where  he  is !  " 

Mrs.  Lane  wonders  at  this  fervor,  but  attributing 
it  to  Miss  Albina's  tender,  sympathetic  heart,  she 
replies  feelingly :  "  No,  my  Wallis  did  not  go  down 
with  the  ill-fated  Dorogan." 

Albina  brightens  up  with  hope  for  the  future,  and 
her  thoughts  travel  rapidly.  A  -sudden  enthusiasm 
rouses  her  spirit.  Despite  the  lapse  of  years,  Wallis 
may  yet  be  rescued  from  the  barren  island  on  which 
she  believes  him  stranded.  She  resolves,  "  I  will  fit 
up  a  yacht  and  with  my  mother  go  in  search  of  him." 
And  she  asks  herself,  "  To  what  better  use  can  I 
apply  my  father's  wealth?  How  serve  the  human 
family  more  effectively  than  to  go  to  one  in  peril?" 

There  are  times  when  we  soar  in  spirit  above  the 
environment  of  our  earthly  bodies.  The  spiritual 
having  gained  the  ascendency,  we  leave  behind  us 
every  thought  of  the  groveling  cares  of  earth.  Such 
is  Albina's  mood  as  she  pulls  herself  together  with 
the  resolve  to  go  in  search  of  Wallis  Bickers,  who 
is  still  alive.  Every  atom  of  jealousy  in  her  heart 
is  extinguished  by  the  hope  of  seeing  him  again. 
True  love  is  more  enduring  than  jealousy.  The  two 
cannot  exist  for  the  same  person,  even  as  water  and 
oil  in  a  vessel  remain  two  distinct  components.  With 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  91 

love  uppermost  in  her  soul,  Albina  forgets  the  heart- 
burnings she  has  endured.  She  thinks  to  confide  the 
story  of  her  life  to  Mrs.  Lane,  but  a  spirit  of  true 
heroism  admonishes  her  to  guard  her  secret  a  little 
longer. 

The  house  is  wrapped  in  silence ;  an  occasional  cab 
rumbles  past  in  the  street;  or  the  quick  pace  of  a 
doctor's  gig  tells  of  the  needs  of  a  sufferer.  Now 
and  again  sounds  the  heavy  tread  of  a  policeman 
walking  his  beat  in  search  of  evil-doers. 

In  the  muffled  quiet  Mrs.  Lane  says :  "  At  the 
beginning  of  February  my  lover,  Wallis  Bentone,  re- 
turned to  New  York,  and  although  he  knew  I  was 
the  wife  of  Jubal  Lane,  he  came  to  see  me.  Then 
it  was  that  I  learned  the  truth  of  the  telegram  which 
he  sent  to  his  cousin  Alice  Grey,  whose  tailor  had 
neglected  to  forward  the  coat  to  her  traveling-dress. 
She  wrote  asking  Wallis  Bentone  to  get  the  pack- 
age, and  meet  her  at  Liverpool.  As  he  was  so  soon 
to  sail,  he  changed  his  passage  to  the  Dorogan,  but 
a  delayed  London  express  caused  him  to  miss  the 
steamer.  The  tragic  death  of  his  cousin  Alice  de- 
cided him  to  prolong  his  stay  abroad,  and  he  wrote 
me  saying  he  felt  it  wiser  not  to  marry  until  his 
aunt,  Mrs.  Grey,  recovered  her  mind,  unsettled  by 
exposure  and  the  loss  of  her  only  child.  This  letter, 
and  -subsequent  ones,  never  reached  me.  You  can 
judge  why.  New  York  papers  circulate  in  Europe, 


92  THE    RED    MOON 

and  Wallis  read  the  announcement  of  my  marriage 
to  Mr.  Lane,  which  explained  to  him  my  silence. 
You  see,  Miss  Albina,  it  was  not  my  betrothed,  but 
that  other  Amherst  man,  who,  I  have  heard,  might 
have  saved  himself,  but  for  his  manly  effort  to  res- 
cue a  young  lady  he  met  in  London,  who  was  also 
a  passenger  aboard  the  ill-fated  ship." 

Within  the  past  hour  deep  emotions  have  stirred 
Albina's  heart.  Pity  for  a  widow,  tender  love  for 
a  baby,  scorn  for  a  man,  then  hope — intense  hope 
and  a  belief  that  she  may  yet  see  her  beloved  Wal- 
lis. 

In  the  vortex  of  contending  feeling  the  lamp  of 
love  is  once  more  relit,  never  again  to  be  obscured 
by  mistrust.  Her  lover,  Wallis  Bickers,  shines  forth 
in  the  light  of  a  true  and  noble  man — worthy  to  be 
mourned  by  her.  This  is  the  supreme  hour  of  her 
life.  A  radiant  expression  overspreads  her  usually 
sad  face,  as  the  angel  of  perfect  peace  lifts  her 
thoughts  out  of  the  slough  of  despond. 

Henceforth  the  sea  may  howl  and  toss  its  waves 
mountain  high,  wailing  a  requiem  mass  for  the  dead 
who  rest  in  the  depths.  Albina  now  mourns  as  one 
with  a  strong  hope  of  reunion  with  a  faithful  lover. 

Oppressed  by  recollections  of  her  error,  Mrs.  Lane 
finishes  her  sad  story. 

"  Miss  Albina,  remorse  has  embittered  every  hour 
of  my  life.  You  see  my  hair  is  prematurely  grey." 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  98 

Then,  catching  the  inspiration  of  Albina's  new  joy, 
she  hugs  her  baby  to  her  bosom.  "  God  gave  me  this 
child  to  comfort  me,  and  with  Mr.  Lane's  knowledge 
I  named  him  Wallis  Bee.  I  must  not  forget  to  tell 
you  that  Mr.  Wallis  Bickers  was  reported  engaged 
to  a  wealthy  Virginia  girl,  but  believing  the  story 
my  husband  wrote  of  the  betrothal  of  Mr.  Bickers 
and  Alice  Grey,  rumor  says  she  shut  herself  up  in 
a  convent,  and  donned  the  white  veil  of  a  nun. 
Knowing  the  falsity  of  Mr.  Lane's  story  as  I 
do,  I  would  go  a  long  distance,  and  make  any  sacri- 
fice, to  assure  that  Southern  girl  of  the  error; 
unfortunately,  however,  I  have  never  heard  her 
name." 

Albina  gives  a  quick  start,  then,  with  a  tone  of 
perfect  composure,  she  asks ;  "  Mrs.  Lane,  will  you 
trust  me  to  ferret  out  and  perform  that  sacred 
duty?" 

"  Gladly,  Miss  Albina." 

Albina  takes  the  sleeping  child's  hand  and  kisses 
it,  saying,  "  Our  precious  little  Wallis  Bee !  God 
bless  him." 

Once  more  it  gives  her  pleasure  to  repeat  that 
sacred  name,  which  has  rarely  passed  her  lips  in 
years. 

Little  Wallis  Bee  Lane  opens  his  eyes  and  smiles 
a  sweet,  artless  baby  smile  that  shows  the  dimples 
in  his  cheeks.  The  two  women  peer  into  his  face, 


94  THE    RED    MOON 

and  his  mother  thinks  she  hears  him  say,  "  Ma-ma. 
As  the  clock  ticks  its  ceaseless  rounds 

"  Two   faces   o'er  the  baby  bent, 
Two  hands  above  the  head  were  locked, 
Those  pressed  each  other,  while  they  looked 
They  watched  a  life  that  Love  had  sent. 
O  !  solemn,  hour  ! 
O  !  hiddeii 


And  now,  Albina's  kindly  heart  reverts  to  the 
other  sufferer  in  this  human  tragedy.  "  Mr.  Wallis 
Bentone!  What  of  him,  Mrs.  Lane?  Does  he  still 
live?  " 

"  Alas,  Miss  Albina,  I  do  not  know.  Wallis  Ben- 
tone  bade  me  good-bye  in  New  York,  on  his  way 
to  Chicago  to  visit  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Grey,  whose  mind 
was  greatly  enfeebled  by  her  experiences  on  the  Doro- 
gan.  She  constantly  asks  if  her  daughter  is  safe. 
I  have  also  read  that  Mrs.  Grey  was  found  dead  on 
the  street  after  the  Chicago  fire.  Indirg«tly  I  have 
heard  that  Wallis  Bentone  gave  up  the  practice  of 
law  and  went  into  the  distant  West  to  hunt  big 
game." 

She  buries  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  God  knows, 
wherever  he  is,  my  prayers  follow  him.  I  need  not 
conceal  the  fact  that  my  heart  is  still  his,  and  will 
be  until  death  releases  me  and  allows  me  to  join  him 
in  the  Great  Beyond,  or,  if  he  outlives  me,  accords 


ALBINA'S    FAITH    AWAKENS  95 

my  spirit  the  sweet  privilege  of  returning  to  earth 
as  his  guardian  angel.  But  for  this  precious  child 
I  would  pray  for  annihilation,  or  at  least  a  dead- 
ening of  that  faculty  called  memory." 

The  two  women,  whose  hearts  are  cemented  by  the 
kinship  of  suffering,  now  plan  many  things  for  the 
child,  the  culminating  point  of  hope  in  their  lives. 
In  the  care  and  education  of  this  boy,  Albina  begins 
to  see  her  sun  going  down  in  bright  colors,  and 
Mrs.  Lane  transfers  her  baby  to  her  benefactress's 
lap,  saying,  "  I  gladly  share  his  love  with  you." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE   ABDUCTION 

"  Long,  long,  long  the  trail 
Out  of  sorrow's  lonely  vale; 
But  at  last  the  traveler  sees 
Light  between  the  trees !  " 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE. 

THE  heyday  of  happiness  is  not  always  when  one 
is  surrounded  with  the  glamor  of  riches.  One's 
truest  peace  and  noblest  impulses  are  often  born  in 
the  mortal  throes  of  buried  prospects  or  crushed 
hopes.  Then,  the  annunciator  of  love  lifts  the  soul, 
and  gives  rise  to  high  aspirations.  Environed  with 
the  needs  of  others,  Albina  realizes  her  obligations  to 
the  desolate  poor,  as  she  goes  from  house  to  house. 

This  lesson  of  sympathy  and  fellowship  is  taught 
by  little  birds  roosting  with  wing  touching  wing,  or 
by  the  buttercups  and  daisies  grouped  together  on 
the  roadside.  It  is  true  that  even  the  most  degraded 
of  mankind  has  a  vulnerable  spot  that  sympathy 
and  kindness  may  touch. 

Without  a  friendly  hand  to  grasp,  or  an  answer- 
96 


THE    ABDUCTION  97 

ing  thrill  of  love  to  vibrate  in  answer  to  our  heart- 
throbs, one's  home,  no  matter  how  beautiful,  how 
luxurious,  soon  turns  into  a  wilderness ;  the  flowers 
of  joy  all  dead,  sunshine  overshadowed  by  grey 
clouds,  and  the  cup  of  life  filled  to  the  brim  with 
wormwood  and  gall. 

With  this  thought  ever  uppermost,  Albina  follows 
out  this  lesson  of  the  birds  and  flowers;  with  subtle, 
mesmeric  power  thus  influencing  those  who  have 
fallen  in  sin,  alluring  them  through  the  little  wicket- 
gate  of  hope,  and  on  into  the  paths  of  right-living 
and  peace. 

New  York  is  in  a  state  of  luxury,  where  the  rich 
and  poor  jostle  each  other;  one  abounding  in  good 
things ;  another,  with  starving  children  crying  for 
bread.  Side  by  side,  pass  millionaires  and  maimed 
heroes  of  the  civil  strife,  the  latter  too  proud  to 
admit  their  needs.  Albina  and  Mrs.  Lane  ferret  out 
the  secrets  of  many  such  proud  poor. 

Together  they,  too,  devise  a  new  club  for  news- 
paper reporters,  and  the  front  basement  of  Mrs. 
Baxter's  Madison  Avenue  home  is  fitted  up  for  the 
club's  use.  In  the  winter  a  bright  fire  burns,  and 
for  the  asking  may  be  had  a  cup  of  tea,  or  choco- 
late, with  bread. 

No  initiation  fee  is  required  for  membership,  only 
the  signature  in  a  book  with  this  inscription: 

"We,  the  undersigned,  agree  never  to  contribute 


98  THE    RED    MOON 

exaggerated  accounts,  or  needlessly  sensational  ar- 
ticles for  our  paper,  nor  for  the  purpose  of  grati- 
fying the  public  thirst  for  scandal  will  we  ever 
encroach  upon  the  sanctity  of  the  family  in  its  home 
life." 

Running  in  and  out,  little  Wallis  Bee  Lane  has 
become  the  pet  of  the  "  New  Writers'  Club."  In 
his  every  footprint  he  scatters  sunshine  over  thc- 
household.  Mama,  and  "  Aunty  " — as  he  calls  his 
benefactress — watch  his  development  with  loving 
care.  By  Mrs.  Baxter's  advice,  Albina  makes  him 
her  legal  heir;  for  the  simple  story  of  his  name 
cleared  up  the  uncertainty  of  the  telegram,  and  re- 
newed her  trust  in  her  lover's  faithfulness. 

One  day  they  are  all  busy  getting  ready  for  the 
outing  at  the  seashore,  where  little  barefooted  Wallis 
Bee  delights  to  paddle  in  the  surf,  or  play  in  the 
sand. 

In  the  garish  light  of  a  June  day,  the  sun  di- 
rectly overhead,  the  child  disappears,  leaving  his  iron 
hoop — his  favorite  plaything — leaning  against  the 
step,  as  if  he  were  about  to  enter  at  the  basement 
door.  All  over  the  city  the  reporters  fill  their  papers 
with  descriptions  of  the  pet  of  the  Writers'  Club; 
and  Albina  offers  a  reward  of  "  twenty  thousand 
dollars  for  his  return,  no  questions  asked." 

Many  theories  find  voice  as  to  the  reason  for  the 
abduction.  The  heavy  reward  failing  to  uncover  his 


whereabouts,  an  idea  gains  ground  that  the  motive 
was  revenge,  and  the  crime  instigated  by  a  former 
lover  of  the  child's  mother. 

This  latter  theory  Mrs.  Lane  stoutly  refuses  to 
believe,  but  relates  an  exciting  scene  between  her 
husband  and  an  Indian  warrior  at  Saratoga  Springs. 
Forthwith  the  reporters  take  the  cue,  and  confidently 
assert  that  two  Indians  were  seen  on  Fifth  Avenue 
the  day  Wallis  Bee  disappeared.  What  more  nat- 
ural than  the  belief  that  the  child  is  in  the  distant 
West  with  a  tribe  of  Indians? 

Swiftly  the  summer  is  blotted  from  the  calendar. 
Still,  not  one  word  comes  regarding  the  missing  boy. 
Mrs.  Lane's  face  again  shows  the  deep  lines  of  sor- 
row, and  Albina's  solicitude  for  her  keeps  the  disap- 
pointment in  her  own  heart  from  taking  deeper  root. 
Since  her  girlhood  she  has  been  drifting  with  the 
tide  of  human  woe,  no  wonder  the  simoon  of  sorrow 
overtakes  her  in  this  keen  disappointment. 

She  has  now  borne  six  of  the  trials  predicted  for 
her  life,  and  with  calmness  she  awaits  the  seventh. 
Deep  in  her  soul,  in  amongst  the  dead  leaves  of  her 
blasted  hopes,  glitter  pure  dewdrops  of  faith ;  and 
over  the  mountain  peaks  of  her  trials  now  and 
again  gleams  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine  that  comes 
with  the  joy  of  helping  others.  In  the  happiness  of 
others,  she  confidently  looks  for  the  going  down  of 
her  sun,  "  bright,  like  day,"  as  foretold  over  her 


100  THE    RED   MOON 

cradle.  She  firmly  believes  that  if,  through  her 
agency,  she  can  restore  the  child  to  its  mother,  her 
sun  will  surely  set  in  golden  tints.  She  continues  to 
offer  the  reward,  while  making  every  effort  to  cheer 
Mrs.  Lane's  sad  life. 


CHAPTER    IX 

WALLIS 

"  Clouds 

Rise  curling  fast  beneath  me,  white  and  sulphurous 
Like  foam  from  the  roused  ocean." 

MANFRED. 

A  LAW  student  of  Amherst  College,  always  neatly 
dressed  and  clean  shaven,  his  eyes  sparkling  with 
the  fire  of  intellect,  is  now  in  the  far  distant  West. 
He  is  now  wearing  a  sun-faded  suit  of  corduroy, 
and  his  face  is  brown  and  tanned,  his  hair  and 
beard  long  and  shaggy.  This  man,  Wallis  Ben- 
tone,  lives  in  the  heart  of  nature  in  its  wildest  forms. 
True  to  his  resolve,  he  purchased  a  camping  outfit, 
with  Nero,  his  English  hunting  dog,  as  his  sole  com- 
panion. Beside  the  campfire  he  talks  to  this  dumb 
friend,  and  with  his  head  on  his  master's  knee,  Nero 
wags  his  tail,  and  seems  to  say,  in  dog  language, 
"  Trust  me.  I  will  be  faithful  to  you." 

There  are  times,  however,  when  Bentone  would 
welcome  the  bark  of  a  hyena,  even,  for  company. 
And  then,  again,  he  surprises  himself  by  singing 
his  college  songs,  with  birds  joining  in  full  chorus. 
His  only  auditors  are  timid  rabbits,  "  cottontails," 
nervously  twitching  their  lips,  their  long  ears  erect 

101 


102  THE    RED   MOON 

with  attention.  Nero,  however,  is  too  well  trained 
to  give  chase,  for  it  is  necessary  for  Bentone  to 
restrain  the  natural  impulses  of  his  dog,  as  Indians 
lurk  on  every  side.  Neither  fear  nor  cowardice,  how- 
ever, holds  a  place  in  Bentone's  bosom.  His  lone- 
liness is  relieved  from  time  to  time  by  occasional 
letters  from  a  former  classmate,  Richard  McKellar 
of  Chicago,  who  delights  in  the  study  of  meta- 
physics ;  and  why  his  friend  denies  himself  the  privi- 
lege of  studying  the  best  authors  is  a  mystery  Rich- 
ard seeks  to  .solve ;  why  Bentone  is  content  to  bury 
himself  away  from  civilization  with  the  heavens  his 
only  canopy,  leaves  and  brushwood  his  softest  couch, 
often  troubles  his  friend  Richard.  He  writes  for  an 
explanation. 

Bentone  replies  : 

"  DEAR  RICHARD  : 

I  have  the  book  of  nature  always  open.  I  am 
following  the  trail  of  buffalo  and  deer  to  kill  time, 
to  .subdue  a  passionate  love  for  Jessie  Lea,  whom  I 
last  saw  in  New  York,  the  wife  of  Jubal  Lane.  To 
this  day,  I  recall  words  from  her  lips  that  opened 
wide  the  gates  of  Elysium  for  me.  I  live  over  and 
over  the  memory  of  the  months  when  she  was  my 
betrothed,  and  had  she  not  fallen  under  the  hypnotic 
spell  of  a  scoundrel,  who  trapped  her  into  a  hasty 
marriage,  to-day  she  would  be  my  wife.  I  blame 


WALLIS  103 

myself  for  prolonging  my  stay  abroad  after  the  loss 
of  the  Dorogan,  when  my  favorite  cousin,  Alice 
Grey,  was  lost.  Fool  that  I  was !  Many  contend 
that  as  '  good  fish  swim  in  the  sea  as  ever  were 
caught,'  but  I  hold  a  different  opinion.  Jessie  is 
my  ideal  of  a  perfect  woman.  I  bade  her  good-bye 
as  the  wife  of  a  man  I  am  sure  she  does  not  love, 
yet,  neither  by  word  or  look,  did  she  let  me  know  it. 
The  perversity  of  our  human  nature  is  such,  that 
our  pride  is  gratified  by  a  woman's  questionable 
bearing  toward  us,  yet  we  love,  honor,  and  respect 
her  more  in  her  noble  attitude  of  unsullied  virtue. 
Now,  do  you  comprehend,  my  dear  Richard,  why  I 
am  roaming  over  the  West?  Have  pity  on  me  and 
write  soon  to  your  lonely  friend, 

"  WALLIS  BENTONE." 

Nothing  brings  us  to  our  senses,  or  at  least  to  a 
normal  frame  of  mind,  so  surely  as  the  craving  for 
food.  Bentone  often  then  has  to  cast  aside  his 
weight  of  trouble  to  .supply  his  wants.  A  pot  of 
coffee,  hardtack,  and  a  steak  of  venison  broiled  on 
glowing  coals,  satisfies  his  appetite.  Following  long 
trampings  he  sleeps  soundly,  with  Nero  as  guard, 
and  at  the  first  gleam  of  a  morning  sun,  master 
and  dog  are  on  tramp  again. 

Now  comes  a  letter  telling  of  the  death  of  Rich- 
ard's mother,  and  Bentone  replies : 


THE    RED    MOON 

"  DEAR  RICHARD  : 

"  My  heart  is  with  you  in  this,  your  hour  of  keen 
sorrow.  Remember  it  is  a  sweet  privilege  to  have 
known  your  mother's  love,  even  though  you  hence- 
forth have  only  the  memory  of  it.  My  mother  is 
merely  the  creature  of  my  fancy,  a  dream  I  would 
have  real.  I  cannot  recall  her  personality.  Indeed, 
Richard,  I  always  lose  those  to  whom  I  would  give 
a  wealth  of  affection.  Your  mother  has  been  such 
a  joy  in  your  life,  now  let  the  thought  be  your 
solace.  Is  it  not  true  that  we  are  born  for  sorrow? 
A  dead  sorrow  can  be  endured,  but  a  living  sorrow 
is  a  weight  that  drags  the  soul  down.  My  closet 
is  filled  with  a  medley  of  dry  bones.  My  sorrow  is 
a  living,  ever-present  reality,  and  upsets  my  faith 
in  womankind — at  least  women  so  easily  influenced 
by  the  fascinations  of  a  man  who  understands  the 
art  of  flattery,  or  who  influences  her  through  her 
weakness — jealousy.  Jealousy  is  my  Jessie's  beset- 
ting sin.  I  still  call  her  *  my  Jessie.' 

"  It  was  a  monster  in  man's  garb  who  stole  her. 
Think  of  my  present  occupation,  hunting,  and  fish- 
ing for  salmon.  I,  who  used  to  be  fond  of  society 
and  study,  and  now  turn  with  loathing  from  it. 
Nature  soothes  the  cravings  of  my  soul,  and  keeps 
me  from  cursing  Jubal  Lane  for  my  bitter  disap- 
pointment. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  picture  of  my  little  Jes- 


WALLIS  105 

sie  with  the  nut-brown  hair  and  eyes  as  blue  as  a 
violet?  It  is  still  in  my  breast-pocket,  as  near  my 
heart  as  I  can  get  it.  But  Jessie  belongs  to  another, 
and  when  I  think  of  Jubal  Lane  as  Jessie's  husband, 
I  am  a  murderer  in  thought. 

"  Richard,  you  ask  that  I  come  and  join  you  in 
your  travels  abroad.  But,  why  not  change  your 
plans,  and  wander  over  your  own  country  with  me? 
I  have  in  mind  a  .scheme — a  plan  to  trap  salmon  as 
they  go  up  the  Columbia  River.  If  I  succeed  in  this 
scheme,  and  we  have  transportation,  there  will  be 
a  fortune  made. 

"  Write  soon  to  your  friend, 

"  WAI/LIS  BENTONE." 

This  letter  written,  Bentone,  the  hunter,  selects  a 
thick  growth  of  trees  under  which  to  camp.  Sweet 
beyond  expression  is  the  soft  glow  of  sunset,  as  day 
after  day  it  tips  the  towering  peak  of  Mount  Hood 
with  a  last  lingering  ray  of  gold  and  crimson.  In 
its  grandeur  Mount  Hood  stands  alone,  as  if,  in  the 
dim  past,  like  some  fabled  growth,  it  sprang  from 
the  earth  in  a  night,  no  rolling  chain  of  lesser  moun- 
tains to  break  the  reach  of  sky  and  forest,  forests 
that  in  the  gloaming  twilight  look  black  against  the 
soft  sky.  In  the  quiet  of  many  evenings  Bentone 
gives  wing  to  his  thoughts,  while  near  by,  in  the 
trees,  twittering  birds  seek  shelter  for  the  night. 


106  THE    RED    MOON 

Bentone  tries  to  gain  his  own  consent  to  join 
Richard  in  Rome,  but  Bentone  prefers  to  follow  the 
course  of  the  Columbia  River  as  it  flows  toward  the 
Pacific.  After  long,  weary  tramps,  one  afternoon 
he  catches  sight  of  the  Western  sea,  with  a  fore- 
ground of  rocks  that  clearly  mark  the  undulating 
surface  of  the  land,  the  horizon  dotted  here  and 
there  with  small  boats,  their  sails  tossed  about  on 
the  waves  as  the  weird  playthings  of  sea  nymphs. 
In  this  scene  of  grandeur  there  is  no  human  sound 
to  greet  the  lone  wanderer,  no  lowing  of  cattle — 
nothing  to  suggest  the  proximity  of  animate  life. 
To  the  east  tower  great  purple  mountains,  almost 
touching  the  darkening  clouds,  now  looming  up,  om- 
inously, in  the  south. 

Bentone  stands  in  reverie,  watching  the  changeful 
light  of  the  setting  sun,  that  like  a  great  ball  of 
fire  suddenly  drops  out  of  sight.  Face  to  face  with 
nature  in  its  wildest  aspects,  he  is  startled  by  the 
uncanny  screech  of  an  owl,  that  recalls  an  old  super- 
stition, that  these  birds  of  night  foretell  death,  and 
a  chill  .strikes  his  heart.  What  if  it  be  his  dear 
little  Jessie  about  to  die.  Thinking  of  her,  a  strong 
impulse  seizes  him ;  an  impulse  to  retrace  his  steps 
and  again  assume  the  duties  of  his  profession.  A 
flush  of  shame  tinges  his  cheeks,  as  he  looks  back 
upon  the  privileges  he  has  enjoyed,  such  as  a  liberal 
education  in  college,  and  in  travel.  Of  what  avail 


WALLIS  107 

is  it  in  this  useless,  profitless  existence  he  now 
spends?  And  why?  In  pique  over  the  marriage  of 
a  girl  he  loves,  he  lives  as  a  woodsman — a  low  level, 
indeed,  for  an  educated  man.  Thus  it  is  that  in  the 
loneliness  of  the  oncoming  night,  a  wave  of  remorse 
stirs  his  heart — a  desire  and  a  craving  to  return  to 
manly  work. 

He  comforts  himself  with  the  assurance  that  in  a 
new  life,  with  the  cobwebs  brushed  from  his  brain, 
he  can  easily  retake  his  place  in  the  rank  and  file, 
and  so  fulfil  his  high  aspirations  in  life. 

At  this  moment  a  spiritual  agency  surrounds  him, 
and  with  it  strange  and  mystic  power  seem  to  force 
him  to  do  his  duty  as  a  citizen. 

In  reality  man  is  a  mere  bauble,  a  plaything  when 
some  unseen,  invincible  power  grips  him,  and  forces 
him  on,  to  weal  or  woe. 

Suddenly  Bentone  realizes  that  a  storm  is  brew- 
ing, for  heavy  clouds  darken  the  sky.  Seeing  a  slen- 
der spiral  of  smoke  in  the  distance,  he  walks  rapidly, 
hoping  for  shelter.  This  he  finds  in  the  hut  of  a 
settler,  who  gladly  welcomes  him.  From  the  sup- 
ply of  game  in  his  knapsack,  a  frugal  meal  is  soon 
spread  for  him. 

To  one  isolated  in  the  woods  newspapers  are  a 
great  boon.  Bentone  therefore  seats  himself  com- 
fortably to  read  by  the  firelight  the  old  and  recent 
New  York  papers  his  host  supplies.  In  a  paper 


108  THE    RED    MOON 

yellow  with  age,  a  paragraph  catches  his  eye. 
"  Twenty  thousand  dollars  reward  is  offered  by  Miss 
Albina  Baxter,  for  the  return  of  Wallis  Bee  Lane — 
only  child  of  the  widow  of  Jubal  Lane.  The  boy 
was  trundling  a  hoop  in  front  of  No.  5  Madison 
Avenue,  when  he  suddenly  disappeared."  Then  fol- 
lows a  description  of  the  child,  and  a  theory  that 
revenge,  not  money,  is  the  motive  for  the  abduc- 
tion. Then  the  article  concludes :  "  Clever  detec- 
tives believe  the  boy  was  spirited  away  by  an  In- 
dian, in  the  pay  of  a  former  lover  of  Mrs.  Lane, 
who,  rumor  says,  is  hunting  big  game  in  the  wilds 
of  the  West." 

Wallis  Bentone  springs  to  his  feet.  The  pioneer's 
cabin  is  too  small  to  hold  the  infuriated  man.  Out 
into  the  open  he  dashes,  and  struggles  with  his  emo- 
tion. "  Am  I,  Wallis  Bentone,  the  suspected  brute 
who  would  stoop  to  so  mean  a  revenge  upon  a  loving 
mother?  I,  a  gentleman  by  birth,  and  scholar  by 
education  ?  "  He  strides  rapidly  up  and  down,  up 
and  down  the  narrow  walk  leading  to  the  suggestion 
of  a  gate. 

"  Revenge !  "  Again  the  blood  rushes  with  mad- 
dening force  through  his  veins.  "  Revenge !  Had  I 
been  capable  of  so  despicable  a  motive  I  should  have 
sought  to  punish  the  man,  Jubal  Lane,  who  wronged 
me;  surely  not  the  woman  and  her  innocent  child." 
Bentone  passes  his  hand  over  his  throbbing  temples. 


WALLIS  109 

"  Well,  the  devil  has  secured  his  own  at  all  events. 
Lane  is  dead,  and  I'm  glad  of  it." 

The  rain  has  abated  and  the  clouds  have  blown 
over,  showing  a  full  moon,  its  silvery  gleam  beau- 
tifying each  rough  hillock,  or  gaunt  tree  stump,  but 
its  cold  light  accords  ill  with  the  fever  of  Bentone's 
thoughts,  as  with  a  vow  upon  his  lips,  to  which 
Nero  alone  is  witness,  he  swears,  "  I  will  traverse  the 
whole  world,  if  need  be,  in  order  to  discover  the 
whereabouts  of  Jessie  Lea's  son,  he  to  whom  my 
darling  has  given  my  college  name.  I  am  not  worthy 
of  this  high  honor;  but,  by  God,  I  will  try  to  repay 
her  by  finding  her  boy,  dead  or  alive." 

Later,  Bentone  seeks  bodily  repose,  but  his  emo- 
tions are  too  feverish  for  sleep.  Hour  after  hour, 
he  sits  beside  a  blazing  fire  searching  each  column 
of  the  papers  for  additional  news  of  the  kidnapping. 
He  is  startled  by  the  realization  that  the  reward 
was  offered  years  ago,  and  that  it  may  have  been 
paid,  and  the  boy  now  safe  in  his  mother's  arms. 
However,  another  item  in  a  recent  paper  states: 
"  Detectives  supposedly  on  the  trail  of  the  little  boy, 
Wallis  Bee  Lane,  have  found  a  girl  instead."  This 
paragraph  says  the  widowed  mother  is  battling 
bravely  with  her  sorrow,  and  is  still  convinced  that 
her  child  is  in  the  hands  of  Indians. 

"  By  Jove !  "  Bentone  exclaims,  "  a  woman's  im- 
pulses, or  conjectures,  are  often  correct.  I.  will  fol- 


110  THE    RED    MOON 

low  her  theory  and  steal  upon  every  tribe  of  Indians 
in  the  West,  until  I  find  the  boy,"  and  he  begins  to 
formulate  plans  for  the  search. 

Then  a  feeling  of  depression  grips  his  heart. 
"  How  am  I  to  identify  a  child  I  have  never  seen  ? 
*  Clever  detectives  '  might  do  so,  but  I'm  no  detec- 
tive. If  Wallis  Bee  is  with  Indians,  as  his  mother 
thinks,  she  probably  would  not  recognize  him  now. 
There  is  only  a  step^  from  a  high-born  boy  to  a  war- 
rior in  feathers  and  war-paint.  Children  soon  grow, 
and  are  what  their  .surroundings  make  them." 

Then  he  wonders  about  Miss  Baxter?  What  re- 
lation is  she  to  the  child?  What  actuates  her  to 
offer  so  large  a  reward  for  his  return?  He  won- 
ders, but  he  has  no  way  of  ferreting  out  this  mys- 
tery. 

In  early  morning,  before  the  larks  rise  in  the  air, 
Bentone  is  up  burnishing  his  gun  and  pistol,  ready 
for  a  start,  a  start  on  a  hunt,  but  not  for  big 
game.  The  game  is  the  precious  little  child  who 
bears  his  name.  To  human  eyes  the  chances  are  all 
against  him,  and  possibly  he  will  be  a  victim  of  his 
own  rashness  in  creeping  upon  encampments  of  In- 
dians, but  this  daredevil  recklessness  will  add  charm 
to  a  hunter's  life  and  give  spice  to  his  daily  tramps. 

By  inquiry  Bentone  learns  there  is  a  white  boy 
with  the  Chilcats,  an  Indian  tribe  encamped  beside 
the  river.  Later,  after  a  hairbreadth  escape,  he 


WALLIS  111 

finds  that  this  lad  is  nearly  grown.     He  is  therefore 
not  Jessie's  son. 

Weeks  and  months  of  marching,  and  counter- 
marching in  following  different  clues  end  in  disap- 
pointment. Wallis  tries  to  gain  his  own  consent  to 
renounce  his  determination,  and  fly  to  Jessie  to  de- 
clare his  love,  to  give  up  the  useless  waste  of  time. 
In  this  spirit  he  writes  again  to  his  friend. 

"  MY  DEAR  RICHARD  : 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  wondering  why  you  do  not 
hear  from  me.  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  aban- 
doned the  chase  after  wild  game,  and  am  deeply 
absorbed  in  the  search  for  a  boy,  said  to  be  with 
the  Indians  in  this  far  distant  West.  This  is  what 
the  New  York  papers  affirm,  and  I  am  acting  upon 
their  statements.  It  may  be  a  wild-goose  chase,  but 
at  least  it  serves  to  kill  time. 

"  Hold  your  breath  while  I  tell  you  that  this  boy 
is  a  son  of  my  own  darling  Jessie.  She  has  been 
worse  than  dead  to  me,  but  thank  God  she  is  now  a 
widow,  and  so  hope  springs  anew  in  my  bosom.  I 
am  frantic  to  go  to  Jessie,  and  lay  my  heart  and 
hand  at  her  feet,  but  some  inward  monitor  restrains 
me,  and  urges  me  to  seek  the  lost  child.  There  is 
a  reward  of  twenty  thousand  dollars  offered  by  a 
Miss  Albina  Baxter.  Who  she  is,  I'm  at  a  loss  to 
know !  Jessie  never  spoke  of  her  to  me ;  but  rest 


112  THE    RED   MOON 

assured,  friend  Richard,  the  reward  does  not  enter 
into  my  thoughts.  It  is  love  for  Jessie  that  gives 
me  the  nerve  to  take  my  life  in  my  hands,  as  I 
stealthily  creep  upon  encampments  of  savages.  It 
is  love,  unsatisfied  love,  that  sends  me  wandering  over 
the  prairies.  Truly,  love  does  at  times  make  a  fool 
of  more  sensible  men  than  I.  Jessie  surely  cares  for 
me;  else  why  did  she  give  her  only  child  my  college 
name — Wallis  Bee? 

"  Have  you  any  way  of  finding  the  whereabouts 
of  Mrs.  Jubal  Lane,  or  Miss  Albina  Baxter?  In 
your  search,  please  do  not  mention  my  name.  I  am 
determined  to  keep  in  the  background  until  I  have 
visited  every  tribe  of  Indians  in  this  section. 

"  If  I  find  the  boy,  it  will  be  some  compensation 
for  the  blasting  of  my  hopes  by  that  brute  of  a 
man  who  dashed  from  my  lips  my  cup  of  happiness 
just  as  I  was  about  to  drink  of  the  sweetest  joy  of 
a  man's  life. 

"  Note  the  date  of  my  letter.  This  is  Christmas 
night,  and  I  should  be  in  my  happiest  mood,  but 
I'm  not. 

"  I  have  tried  to  picture  the  Christ-child  lying  in 
the  manger,  with  the  Divine  Mother  listening  to  the 
song  of  the  angels,  and  receiving  the  adoration  of 
the  Magi.  Struggle  as  I  may,  the  mother's  face  is 
that  of  Jessie,  and  the  child  I  see  is  in  the  midst  of 
a  band  of  swarthy  warriors,  who  have  hung  their 


WALLIS  113 

game  on  the  surrounding  tree  branches.  Do  you 
think  it  a  possibility  that  this  premonition  may  lead 
me  on  to  success? 

"  A  New  York  paper  intimates  that  a  former  lover 
of  Mrs.  Lane  may  have  instigated  the  abduction  of 
her  son.  I'm  incensed  at  the  very  thought.  Were 
Jubal  Lane  alive,  I'd  put  a  bullet  through  his  brain, 
confident  that  the  idea  originated  in  his  versatile 
mind. 

"  Excuse  this  outburst  from 

"  Your  friend, 

"  WALLIS  BENTONE. 

"  P.S. — Don't  forget  to  make  inquiries  about  the 
two  ladies.  I  am  almost  ready  to  return  East,  to 
kneel  at  the  shrine  of  Jessie's  love." 


CHAPTER    X 

MEMORY    REFRESHED 

"  Could    we    but    draw    back    the    curtains 
That  surround  each  other's  lives." 

THE  air  is  crisp  and  cold,  the  season  well  ad- 
vanced, increasing  the  discomforts  of  camp-life,  but 
intensifying  the  beauty  of  the  evening  sky,  as  nature 
drops  to  sleep,  to  be  born  again  in  the  morning  with 
a  concert  of  singing  birds,  and  rustling  leaves.  Day 
by  day  the  heavens  are  overspread  with  tints  of  red, 
yellow,  and  purple,  making  a  combination  that  can- 
not be  imitated  by  man.  Brilliant  sunsets  forecast 
the  coming  of  the  Lord  in  a  chariot  of  fire. 

Across  the  grave  of  Jubal  Lane  the  little  wicket 
gate  of  hope  stands  wide  open,  alluring  Bentone  to 
the  arena  of  work;  and  the  spiritual  influence  of 
Jessie  Lea,  like  the  whisper  in  the  tree-tops,  soothes 
him,  as  he  thinks  of  a  cheerful  fireside,  with  the 
woman  he  loves  beside  him.  A  fire  in  camp  means 
no  end  of  annoyance  from  prowling  beasts  attracted 
by  the  glare,  or  it  may  be  the  vengeful  savage.  But 
for  the  vow  to  find  the  lost  lad,  Bentone  assures 
himself  he  would  hasten  to  Jessie.  His  mind  is  torn 
with  conflicting  emotions,  one  entirely  selfish,  the 
114 


MEMORY   REFRESHED  115 

other  unselfish.  "Why  does  my  heart  burn  with  a 
determination  to  find  the  child,  and  my  muscles  long 
for  action  in  this  search,  if  an  unknown  force  is  not 
urging  me  on?  I  will  heed  my  impulse  unto  death." 
So  he  continues  to  follow  clue  after  clue,  only  to  be 
disappointed. 

Then  comes  a  letter  from  his  friend. 

"  HOTEL  EDEN,  ROME,  ITALY. 
"  MY  DEAR  BENTONE  : 

"  I  have  made  a  note  of  your  request  to  seek  in- 
formation in  regard  to  Mrs.  Jubal  Lane,  and  Miss 
Albina  Baxter.  As  to  the  lost  boy,  can't  you  see 
that  you  are  on  a  wild-goose  chase — allowing  your 
impulse  to  lead  you?  Think  of  the  absurdity  of  that 
newspaper  theory,  that  an  Indian,  at  high  noon, 
could  spirit  off  a  white  child  from  the  busy  streets 
of  New  York !  It  is  quite  as  improbable  and  impos- 
sible as  that  in  a  spirit  of  sordid  revenge,  you,  a 
gentleman  by  birth  and  education,  would  stoop  to 
instigate  the  abduction. 

"  Can  you  not  read  between  the  lines  of  that  re- 
porter's article?  It  was  written  to  create  a  sensa- 
tion, and  so  increase  the  sale  of  the  paper.  I  im- 
plore you  not  to  lose  your  scalp  and  life  on  such 
slight  provocation.  Mrs.  Lane's  child  was  stolen 
years  ago,  and  while  the  rich  heiress,  Miss  Albina 
Baxter,  still  offers  a  heavy  reward  for  the  boy's  re- 


116  THE    RED    MOON 

turn,  so  far  as  I  can  ascertain  no  clue  has  been 
gleaned  by  the  shrewdest  detectives  as  to  his  where- 
abouts. In  reading  the  papers  in  the  settler's  hut, 
you  jumbled  up  dates.  It  is  hardly  surprising,  how- 
ever, for  I  can  well  imagine  the/  tumult  in  your  heart 
— the  desire  to  fly  to  Jessie,  and  the  manly  impulse 
to  seek  her  stolen  child.  Take  my  advice  and  find 
Jessie.  Rest  assured,  every  item  of  news  bearing  on 
this  subject  will  be  quickly  sent  to  you,  by  your 
friend,  RICHARD." 

Richard's  letter  fails  to  discourage  Bentone, 
rather  firing  anew  his  soul  with  a  strong  resolution 
to  keep  up  the  search  until  he  is  satisfied  in  his  own 
mind  that  the  child  is  not  under  the  care  of  Indians. 
"  A  smile  from  Jessie  will  repay  me  for  any  priva- 
tion I  may  incur.  Suppose  I  am  scalped,  Jessie  will 
never  know  of  my  weary  round  of  tramping,  hoping 
to  find  her  lost  boy.  I  will  write  Richard  to  find 
her,  and  tell  her  how  I  have  risked  my  life  in  the 
hope  of  making  her  happy,  how  I  have  longed  to 
rush  to  her  side,  but  resisted  the  impulse  in  her 
interest.  So  he  writes  the  following  letter: 

"  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 
"  MY  DEAR  RICHARD  : 

"  Should  you  fail  to  have  news  of  me,  and  are 
convinced  that  I  have  fallen  a  victim  of  my  own 


MEMORY    REFRESHED  117 

rashness,  will  you  seek  a  personal  interview  with  my 
dear  Jessie  Lea,  and  tell  her  how  truly  I  have  tried 
to  find  her  lost  boy?  Be  sure  to  tell  her  that  my 
last  breath  will  breathe  her  name,  and  a  prayer  that 
we  may  meet  in  the  Great  Beyond.  I  would  fly  to 
the  East  to  throw  myself  at  her  feet,  but  something 
in  my  heart  braces  my  resolve  to  search  for  her  little 
son.  O  Dick!  I  have  been  such  a  fool,  if  I  ever  get 
another  chance,  I  mean  to  make  a  man  of  myself. 
Were  Lane  alive,  I  would  shoot  him,  knowing  it  was 
he  who  dared  assume  that  I  could  stoop  so  low  as 
to  abduct  or  instigate  the  kidnapping  of  a  child. 
"  Daily  I  pray  the  good  Lord  to  spare  me  and 
allow  me  the  sweet  privilege  of  casting  my  unworthy 
heart  at  Jessie's  feet.  Do  you  think  she  will  spurn 
the  love  of  your  true  friend? 

"  BENTONE." 

Writing  this  letter  produces  a  feeling  of  renewed 
strength  for  the  "  wild-goose  chase,"  and  as  the 
blood-red  moon  rose  over  the  hills,  Bentone  ap- 
proaches the  wigwam  of  Black  Bear,  who  is  at  peace 
with  both  the  whites  and  the  Indians. 

As  he  advances,  Bentone  reverses  his  gun,  which, 
however,  is  carefully  primed  for  any  unexpected 
emergency. 

Black  Bear  understands  the  signal,  and  comes 
forward  with  his  tomahawk  upside  down. 


118  THE    RED    MOON 

From  him,  Bentone  learns  that  three  days  before 
six  warriors  from  the  Chicopees  passed  northward 
on  their  winter  hunt.  They  had  with  them  a  brave 
little  lad  with  eyes  as  blue  as  the  sky,  and  hair  as 
fair  as  the  moon,  but  no  inducement  can  prevail 
upon  either  Black  Bear  or  his  son  to  assist  in  the 
hunt  for  this  white  boy. 

Alone,  then,  Wallis  Bentone,  with  his  dog,  begins 
a  long,  weary  tramp. 

"  The  hunters  have  the  start  of  me,"  he  says  to 
himself,  "  and  there  is  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that 
if  I  overtake  them  I  can  identify  a  boy  whom  I  have 
never  seen.  One  false  step  on  my  part,  and  my 
scalp  will  dangle  at  a  warrior's  belt.  But " — Ben- 
tone  resolutely  bows  his  head  toward  the  east — "  to- 
ward the  rising  of  the  sun  I  picture  a  sweet,  sad 
face;  for  a  smile  from  her,  I'd  court  danger,  even 
death." 

The  influence  of  the  Japan  current  is  quickly  de- 
tected by  animals,  and  great  herds  migrate  to  the 
softer  air  of  the  northwest.  The  day  is  closing  when 
Bentone  sights  a  herd  of  bison  hotly  pursued  by  six 
Indians,  and  a  boy  on  an  Indian  pony.  Although 
at  a  great  distance,  he  exclaims,  "  That's  Jessie's 
son !  "  and  he  starts  after  them.  Then  he  suddenly 
stops  to  formulate  a  more  sensible  scheme.  Certain 
death  would  be  his  only  reward  to  attempt  a  rescue, 
save  by  stealth.  Keeping  under  the  cover  of  trees, 


MEMORY   REFRESHED  119 

he  pushes  on  in  the  direction  of  the  hunters.  Nero's 
nature  is  sorely  taxed  by  the  restraint,  for  he  would 
give  chase  in  full  cry,  if  allowed. 

Nature  requires  repose,  and  so  to  fit  himself  for 
the  dangerous  work  before  him,  Bentone  wraps  him- 
self in  his  waterproof  and  sleeps  the  sleep  of  an 
exhausted  man. 

Do  animals  think  and  reason?  Nero,  by  some 
strange  instinct,  divines  his  master's  wish,  and  at 
midnight  licks  his  face.  Bentone  rises  and  cautiously 
advances,  until  the  fitful  glimmer  of  a  campfire 
marks  the  Indian  bivouac.  Each  object  intervening 
is  shrouded  in  a  black  pall,  intensified  by  the  red 
gleam  of  the  firelight,  silhouetted  against  the  back- 
ground. 

Stationing  Nero  on  guard  over  his  knapsack,  Ben- 
tone  gets  near  enough  to  discern  six  sturdy  warriors 
around  a  bed  of  hot  coals.  The  hunters  are  in 
merry  mood,  and  their  chatter  deadens  the  sound 
of  approaching  footsteps,  though  each  crushed  twig 
or  dry  leaf  is  an  explosive  to  Bentone's  sensitive  ear. 
He  dares  not  make  an  attempt  to  reach  the  camp 
until  every  Indian  is  asleep.  Crouching  beside  a 
tree,  he  hears  a  night  bird  singing  a  love  song,  which 
recalls  many  sad  memories.  It  recalls  a  visit  to 
Jessie  in  her  Southern  home,  where  at  midnight 
mocking-birds  -sing  their  sweetest  songs,  to  assure 
their  mates  of  their  presence.  Then  every  bird  song 


120  THE    RED    MOON 

was  a  note  from  heaven,  and  Jessie  the  bright  star 
of  hope  in  his  life.  What  a  contrast  now!  Within 
touch  of  six  red  devils  who  would  not  hesitate  to 
deal  a  death-blow,  and  sling  his  scalp  at  their  side ! 
And  why  this  change?  Bentone  dares  not  dwell 
upon  the  thought. 

On  the  tree  limbs  about  the  campfire  hang  one 
bison,  two  deer,  and  a  number  of  small  animals,  so 
protecting  the  game  from  prowling  wolves.  The 
hunters  arrange  themselves  in  a  circle,  their  feet  to- 
ward the  embers  of  the  fire.  Stretched  at  full 
length  is  a  white  boy  clad  in  foxskin  garments — a 
strong-looking,  athletic  boy.  "  That's  Jessie's  son," 
says  Bentone  to  himself.  We  are  often  convinced  of 
a  thing  without  a  tangible  reason. 

Soon  the  breathing  of  the  sleepers  gives  Bentone 
the  opportunity  to  get  nearer  the  lad,  whose  every 
muscle  is  relaxed,  his  bow  and  arrows  fallen  from 
the  grasp  of  his  hand. 

"  Is  this  really  Jessie's  son?  "  Bentone  asks  him- 
self. "  I  must  believe  it  is  to  nerve  me  for  the 
rescue."  With  his  gun  pointing  toward  the  sleepers, 
his  revolver  stuck  in  his  belt,  he  gets  close  enough 
to  discern  the  clear-cut  Roman  nose  of  the  boy,  a 
counterpart  of  Jessie  Lea's.  One  great  warrior  stirs, 
then  rises  and  grasps  his  rifle.  He  listens,  and  rubs 
his  eyes  with  his  swarthy  hand,  sees  no  one,  and 
again  he  lies  down  to  sleep. 


MEMORY   REFRESHED  121 

Creeping  cautiously  to  the  head  of  the  white- 
skinned  lad,  Bentone  says  in  a  low  voice,  "  Wallis ! 
Wallis  Bee !  "  Perhaps  a  passing  angel  kisses  the 
lad's  brow  and  whispers  of  home:  for  he  seems  to 
dream:  a  smile  overspreads  his  face;  his  lips  part 
and  softly  he  murmurs,  "  Ma-ma." 

Again  Bentone  says,  softly,  "  Wallis ;  Wallis 
Bee."  The  child  wakens,  then  true  to  the  teaching 
of  his  captors,  he  grasps  his  bow  and  arrows  to  de- 
fend himself.  A  questioning  look  flashes  from  his 
eyes,  he  is  bewildered  by  an  inrush  of  feeling,  as  for- 
gotten incidents  of  his  home-life  sweep  over  him 
and  new  joy,  new  hope  springs  into  being.  A  keen 
desire  seizes  him,  a  desire  to  be  cuddled  in  his 
mother's  arms.  In  a  moment  his  affection,  like  a 
creeping  vine,  reaches  out  for  support,  and  he  finds 
that  support  in  a  white  man  leaning  over  him,  with 
friendly  interest  in  his  voice. 

With  a  quick  motion  of  his  arm  the  boy  motions, 
"Go!  I  will  follow  you." 

Bentone  takes  from  his  pocket  a  phosphoric  match- 
box, turning  its  glowing  side  as  a  .signal,  as  he  hur- 
ries away,  for  an  ominous  growl  of  wolves  in  the 
distance  warns  of  coming  danger. 

The  lad,  keen  of  wit,  understands  the  signal,  and 
springing  to  his  feet  utters  a  note  of  alarm,  as  a 
pack  of  hungry,  yelping  wolves  come  bounding  to- 
ward the  camp. 


THE    RED    MOON 

Six  rifle  shots  in  quick  succession  rend  the  air,  for 
the  hunters  are  busy  defending  their  game. 

With  his  match-box  flashing  like  a  glow-fly,  Ben- 
tone  picks  up  his  knapsack,  and  with  Nero  hurries 
away.  A  light  bounding  step  soon  greets  his  ear, 
and  in  an  instant  the  boy  grasps  his  hand. 

Swiftly  they  rush  forward. 

In  the  forest  there  is  comparative  safety,  but  an 
open  stretch  intervenes.  This  must  be  passed  be- 
fore day  dawns. 

Keeping  close  together,  they  pick  their  way  over 
the  rough,  uneven  margin  of  the  Columbia  River, 
here  but  a  small  .stream.  There  is  a  boat  anchored 
to  a  root;  they  spring  into  the  boat  and  row  north- 
ward, keeping  under  the  deep  shadow  of  overhanging 
trees. 

Slowly  the  sun  rises  and  lights  all  nature  with  a 
torch  of  crimson.  The  snow-covered  mountains 
sparkle  and  rejoice  at  the  birth  of  another  day. 
Jagged  rocks  and  forest  trees  loom  into  bold  relief. 
Beside  the  edge  of  the  boat,  rosy-colored  salmon 
flounce  their  supple  bodies  out  of  the  water,  indig- 
nant at  being  disturbed  at  so  early  an  hour. 

Bentone  is  alert  and  watchful,  and  evinces  great 
excitement  over  the  experience  of  the  night,  and  the 
rescue  of  a  white  boy,  no  matter  to  whom  he  belongs. 
Landing  on  the  opposite  shore,  they  leave  the  canoe 
to  float  away. 


MEMORY    REFRESHED  123 

Dogs  instinctively  love  boys  at  once,  and  now 
Nero  ignores  his  master  and  keeps  close  beside 
the  sturdy  youth,  who  lovingly  pats  his  soft,  silky 
head. 

Reaching  a  German  settler's  home,  Nero  comes 
face  to  face  with  two  rivals,  a  fierce  mastiff  and  a 
dachshund.  Well  trained,  Nero  now  fails  to  sup- 
press his  antipathy  to  others  of  his  kind,  but  his 
master  prevents  an  encounter. 

The  settler,  Moritz,  a  sturdy  German,  is  plough- 
ing, in  preparation  for  sowing  winter  wheat.  His 
wife  is  bending  over  her  washtub,  but  the  glitter  of 
a  silver  dollar  induces  her  to  put  aside  her  work 
and  prepare  a  hasty  meal  of  cornbread  and  home- 
cured  bacon. 

Bentone  is  weary  and  tries  to  calm  himself  for  a 
short  rest,  but  the  growls  of  the  dogs  suggest  other 
visitors.  In  front  of  the  house  stand  two  Indian 
warriors,  gesticulating  and  beating  back  the  dogs. 
They  are  in  angry  mood.  Frau  Moritz  scents  dan- 
ger, and  wrings  her  hands  in  distress,  while  her  hus- 
band tries  to  calm  the  ferocious  mastiff.  Moritz  is 
at  peace  with  the  Indians  and  wishes  to  keep  their 
friendship.  Unconscious  of  danger,  their  little  son 
Carl  trundles  his  wooden  barrel  hoop  across  the 
earthen  floor.  Springing  forward,  the  semi-Indian 
lad,  who  has  a  dirk  in  his  belt,  pulls  it  out,  and 
with  the  agility  of  a  practiced  hand  whirls  the  hoop 


THE    RED    MOON 

round  and  round  the  room,  his  bronzed  face  a  study 
in  delight  and  happiness. 

Suddenly  he  stops  in  front  of  Bentone  and  says, 
"  Ma-ma !  Aunty."  Although  he  speaks  the  Chico- 
pee  language,  these  two  English  words  hold  their 
place  in  his  mind. 

Bentone  catches  the  boy's  hands,  and  looking  into 
his  clear  blue  eyes,  he  asks,  "  Is  your  name  Wallis 
Bee  Lane?  Are  you  Jessie  Lane's  son?  Do  you 
know  Miss  Albina  Baxter?  Where  did  you  leave 
your  big  iron  hoop  ?  " 

These  familiar  names  are  the  keys  that  unlock 
the  door  of  the  boy's  memory.  The  mere  mention 
of  his  mother's  name,  and  that  of  his  benefactress, 
floods  his  young  heart  with  thoughts  of  his  home. 
With  a  wild  cry  of  delight  he  throws  his  arms  around 
Bentone's  neck,  saying  in  broken  English,  "  Take 
Wallis  to  Ma-ma!  Aunty." 

The  "  wild-goose  chase "  is  over.  The  boy  is 
found. 


CHAPTER    XI 

HOPE    AND    FEAR 

"  Lo !  the  poor  Indian,  whose  untutored  mind 

Sees  God  in  clouds  or  hears  Him  in  the  wind  .   .    . 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 

His   faithful  dog  shall  keep  him  company." 

POPE. 

THE  warriors  at  the  gate  of  the  German's  home 
are  not  on  a  peaceable  errand.  Trouble  is  in  the 
air. 

Using  Moritz  as  interpreter,  Bentone  bargains  for 
the  lad.  He  is  absolutely  certain  that  before  he 
reaches  Portland  there  will  be  a  fierce  fight  with  the 
treacherous  Indians,  but  he  is  sure  of  victory  if  he 
has  half  a  chance.  "  A  battle  won  in  the  mind  is 
won  in  reality." 

The  daffodil  of  the  evening  sky  changes  to  a  dull, 
leaden  hue,  followed  by  the  murkiness  of  darkness, 
as  Bentone  and  his  companion  steal  away.  With 
the  night  grown  old,  he  selects  a  secluded  spot  to 
rest,  guarded  by  Nero.  He  counts  the  stars  over- 
head in  his  effort  to  woo  sleep,  but  slumber  is  not 
enticed  by  so  flimsy  a  pretext.  Night  turns  to 

125 


126  THE    RED    MOON 

dawn,  and  a  red  ball  of  fire  creeps  up  behind  the 
eastern  horizon,  flooding  the  earth  with  sunshine. 
A  few  morsels  of  food,  and  they  pick  their  way 
along  a  deep  canon,  with  precipitous  walls  on  every 
side — a  canon  dry  and  arid,  with  impoverished  soil 
and  rubble  that  grows  scarcely  any  vegetation. 
They  clamber  up  the  j  agged  wall,  then  enter  a 
thick  growth  of  trees,  with  no  footpaths  to  follow, 
no  well-kept  roads  of  travel;  they  must  struggle 
through  the  troublesome  meshes  of  wild  grape, 
briars  and  trailing  vines,  intermixed  with  low  shrub- 
bery. Nero,  with  canine  instinct,  scents  danger, 
and  as  a  rifle  ball  whizzes  past  Bentone's  head,  and 
buries  itself  in  a  tree,  the  man  realizes  that  the 
battle  is  on.  They  are  discovered  by  a  band  of 
Indians. 

With  deliberate  aim,  Bentone  fires.  A  wild  whoop, 
a  leap  in  the  air,  and  a  sinewy  Indian  falls  to  the 
ground.  In  a  moment  the  lad  is  seized  from  be- 
hind, and  a  dash  made  for  the  deep  canon.  But 
Bentone's  revolver  does  quick  work.  The  second 
warrior  tumbles  over  in  a  heap,  holding  the  boy 
with  a  death-grip. 

Wallis  Bee,  however,  bounds  to  his  feet  with  the 
agility  of  a  .squirrel,  and  running  to  his  protector 
says,  "  Ma-ma  !  Aunty." 

After  some  time,  Bentone  reaches  Portland  and 
ships  for  San  Francisco.  As  uncle  and  nephew 


HOPE    AND    FEAR 

they  settle  in  an  obscure  street,  where  Bentone  es- 
says to  teach  the  child  his  native  tongue,  easily  for- 
gotten, but  as  readily  regained. 

Not  a  doubt  rests  in  his  mind  as  to  the  identity 
of  the  boy,  and  now  his  one  aim  is  to  find  the 
whereabouts  of  Jessie  Lane.  With  the  child  as  an 
offering,  there  is  a  better  chance  of  securing  her 
hand  in  marriage.  He  writes  to  his  aunt  living 
at  Nyack  on  the  Hudson: 

"  MY  DEAR  AUNT  ALICE  : 

"  Have  you  any  way  of  finding  out  where  Mrs. 
Jubal  Lane  is  living?  She  is  the  lady  whose  son 
was  stolen  several  years  ago.  I  judge  she  may  still 
be  in  touch  with  Miss  Albina  Baxter,  who  has  of- 
fered a  large  reward  for  the  return  of  the  lad.  Do 
let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  possible,  for  I  have 
decided  to  return  to  the  East  and  civilization.  I  am 
tired  hunting  big  game,  and  am  going  to  settle 
down  to  manly  work  once  more.  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  pleased  to  hear  this. 

"  I  hope  you  are  feeling  better,  dear  Aunt  Alice. 
I  shall  come  to  you  as  soon  as  I  reach  New  York. 
"  Your  affectionate  nephew, 

"  WAI/LIS  BENTONE." 

This  letter  finished,  Bentone  writes  to  Richard, 
who  is  still  in  Italy. 


128  THE    RED    MOON 

"  MY  DEAR  RICHARD  : 

" '  The  wild-goose  chase  '  is  over,  for  I  have  found 
Jessie's  son.  I  killed  two  huge  Chicopees  as  his  ran- 
som. My  conscience  is  clear,  however,  for  I  bought 
the  boy  fairly,  and  the  treacherous  scoundrels  went 
back  on  their  word,  and  came  near  killing  me,  and 
recovering  the  lad.  I  found  my  favorite  painted 
pipe,  which  I  gave  in  the  trade,  in  one  fellow's 
pouch.  Passing  as  uncle  and  nephew,  the  child  and 
I  are  living  in  this  wind-blown  city  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. I  am  trying  to  find  out  where  Jessie  is.  In 
the  meantime  I  am  teaching  her  son  how  to  speak 
his  native  tongue.  He  is  progressing  famously, 
and  is  clever  and  alert. 

"One  thing  about  the  stripling  troubles  me. 
Whenever  we  pass  an  old  lady  on  the  street  with 
grey  hair,  the  little  fellow  gets  excited,  and  seizing 
my  hand  says,  '  That's  mama ! '  Then  he  takes  off 
his  cap,  runs  his  hand  through  his  own  hair,  and 
says,  '  Purty  white  hair.' 

"  Why  does  he  associate  his  mother  with  white 
hair?  Perhaps  Miss  Albina  has  grey  hair  and  he  is 
thinking  of  her.  I  often  wonder  who  '  aunty '  is. 
When  he  says  aunty  in  his  lessons,  his  eyes  beam 
with  delight  and  he  claps  his  hand  and  says,  '  Take 
me  to  Ma-ma  and  Aunty ! '  This  puzzles  me,  for 
his  mother  was  an  only  child,  and  his  father  was 
also  an  only  child. 


HOPE    AND    FEAR  129 

"  Now,  Dick,  suppose,  after  all,  I  am  mistaken, 
and  this  little  fellow  proves  to  be  some  other 
woman's  son.  What  will  I  do?  All  my  hopes  for 
the  future  will  be  blasted,  and  I  fear  my  new  en- 
ergy will  be  crushed.  The  keenest  desire  of  my  life 
is  to  return  Jessie's  son  to  her  arms.  My  reward! 
Well,  let  me  be  explicit  and  say  that  my  reward 
cannot  be  paid  in  dollars  and  cents.  I  ask  some- 
thing higher  and  nobler.  Never,  even  at  college, 
was  I  more  interested  than  now,  devoting  my  life  to 
this  boy,  fitting  him  to  meet  his  mother  without 
•shocking  her.  I  hardly  dare  trust  myself  with  the 
thought  of  seeing  Jessie.  Suppose,  dear  Richard, 
after  all,  I  fail  to  win  her  for  my  wife!  What  do 
you  think  will  become  of  me?  May  I  quote  a  few 
lines  from  an  ancient  Chinese  philosopher?  Men- 
cius  was  not  civilized  as  we  rate  civilization,  but 
his  thoughts  are  gems.  Let  us  hope  they  fit  my 
experience,  especially  as  to  supplying  my  incom- 
pleteness. 'When  Heaven  is  about  to  confer  a 
great  office  on  any  man  it  first  exercises  his  mind 
with  suffering,  and  his  sinews  and  bones  with  toil. 
It  exposes  his  body  to  hunger,  subjects  him  to  ex- 
treme poverty,  and  confounds  his  understanding. 
In  all  these  ways  it  stimulates  his  mind,  strengthens 
his  nature,  and  supplies  his  incompleteness.' 

"  Well,  I  have  suffered ;  I  have  had  my  sinews 
sorely  taxed,  have  been  exposed  to  all  kinds  of 


130  THE    RED    MOON 

weather,  have  been  hungry;  and  now  my  mind  is 
troubled,  fearing  this  may  not  be  Jessie's  boy. 

"  If  all  this  worry  has  the  effect  of  stimulating 
my  energy,  I  may  yet  round  up  as  one  not  entirely 
given  up  by  either  God  or  man.  Place  the  letters 
wo  before  the  man,  and  emphasize  it  if  you  will. 

"  Richard,  do  you  think  the  dream  of  my  young 
manhood  will  be  realized?  Jessie's  face  is  as  fresh 
in  my  memory  as  if  we  parted  yesterday,  I  with  a 
wicked  vow  on  my  lips,  to  bury  myself  in  the  wilds 
of  the  West.  Intense  desire  prompts  me  now  to 
quit  my  roving  life,  and  hope  lures  me  eastward. 

"  Do  try  to  find  out  where  Jessie  is,  and  let  me 
know. 

"  May  you  never  be  tried  in  love,  as  I  have  been. 
No  one  could  suffer  more  than  I  have  suffered. 
"  Your  true  friend, 

"  WALLIS  BENTONE. 

"  P.  S. — Do  not  forget  to  ferret  out  the  mystery 
connected  with  Miss  Baxter.  I  can't  rest  until  I 
find  out  who  she  is — what  a  kind  heart  she  must 
have  to  offer  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  one  small 
boy!" 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE    RED    MOON    GOES    DOWN 

"If  we  only  knew  the  heart-aches, 

The  struggles  and  the  tears, 
That  follow  like  a  phantom 
The  wake  of  human  years." 

E.  STUART  WEED. 

BENTONE'S  letter  from  San  Francisco,  and  his 
friend's  letter  from  Italy,  cross  amid  ocean,  as 
friendly  letters  often  do. 

Richard  writes  from  Naples,  Italy: 

"  MY  DEAR  BENTONE  : 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  saying,  '  See  Naples  and 
die '  ?  Well,  I  have  seen  Naples,  but  I  am  not 
ready  to  die.  I  must  say,  however,  that  the  inter- 
mingling of  color  in  sky  and  sea  cannot  be  imag- 
ined. Such  lights  and  shades  I  never  saw  in  any 
place  other  than  Naples.  The  sun  seems  to  shine 
brighter,  the  breezes  blow  more  gently,  whilst  the 
sea  glistens  with  prismatic  colors. 

"  At  college  we  read  in  Cicero,  and  Horace,  of 
the  beauties  of  this  country;  now,  I  realize  these 

131 


182  THE    RED    MOON 

writers  did  not  exaggerate,  or  even  overdraw  the 
description. 

"Vesuvius,  of  course,  is  the  central  object  of  in- 
terest, with  occasionally  a  mysterious  outburst  of 
flame,  and  a  graceful  crest  of  smoke.  Here  at 
Naples,  many  things  suggest  Syria,  with  its  an- 
cient tribes  of  men.  Here,  too,  the  fruit  trees  are 
laden  with  luscious  fruit,  and  the  sea  gives  rare 
and  choice  fish.  Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  the  na- 
tives are  so  indolent.  Their  domestic  life  is  lived 
out  of  doors ;  they  revel  in  sunshine,  and  for  food 
are  content  with  a  bowl  of  macaroni  and  cheese,  or 
a  glass  of  wine,  with  melons  and  grapes. 

"  When  they  sleep  is  a  mystery.  All  night  long 
I  hear  them  passing  back  and  forth,  talking,  laugh- 
ing and,  I'm  sure,  gesticulating.  No  one  walks 
who  can  ride,  and  I  have  seen  fifteen  clamber  into 
a  small  vehicle,  with  one  poor  overworked  donkey  to 
pull  the  cart,  goaded  on  by  blows  and  threats  from 
the  driver. 

"I  have  greatly  enjoyed  the  museums,  but  of 
these  things  you  have  read  in  books.  I  must  tell 
you,  however,  that  at  Pompeii  I  watched  the  slow 
excavation  of  a  small  marble  figure,  in  the  center  of 
an  old  fountain  decorated  with  seashells,  and  inlaid 
with  lapis  lazuli. 

"  One  afternoon  we  spent  in  this  silent  charnal 
house  of  a  voluptuous  city,  that,  two  thousand 


THE    RED    MOON    GOES    DOWN      133 

years  ago,  was  suddenly  buried.  We  left  reluc- 
tantly, just  as  the  sun  sank  down  beyond  Ischia. 
The  sky  was  flooded  with  an  amber  light  which 
recalled  forcibly  old  Izaak  Walton's  words :  '  If 
God  gives  such  beauty  for  us  sinful  creatures  here 
on  earth,  what  must  He  not  have  prepared  for  His 
saints  in  Heaven  ?  ' 

"  ROME, 
"  HOTEL  EDEN. 

"  I  was  interrupted,  and  so  failed  to  post  this 
letter  in  Naples.  Here  I  am  in  my  old  quarters 
at  the  delightful  Hotel  Eden. 

"  The  night  of  my  return,  I  was  placed  at  a 
small  round  table  in  the  dining-room;  and  near  me, 
at  another,  sat  two  ladies  in  deep  black.  They 
arrived  during  my  absence  in  the  South.  I  knew 
at  a  glance  they  were  not  sisters ;  the  younger  is 
pretty,  with  a  sweet,  sad  face  and  an  abundance  of 
snow-white  hair,  which  made  me  think,  involuntarily, 
'  Winter  is  intermingled  with  spring.'  The  other 
lady  cannot  be  called  pretty,  but  she  has  the  fa- 
cial expression  of  an  angel;  her  deep-set  brown  eyes 
sent  a  thrill  through  my  nerves,  when  I  chanced  to 
meet  her  glance. 

" '  Hold  your  breath,'  as  you  once  expressed 
yourself,  when  I  tell  you  that  these  two  ladies  are 
Miss  Albina  Baxter  and  Mrs.  Jubal  Lane  of  New 
York.  Now,  Bentone,  see  what  a  chance  you  have 


THE    RED    MOON 

missed  by  not  coming  over,  and  joining  me  in  my 
travels,  instead  of  going/on  a  '  wild-goose  chase ' 
over  the  West  in  search  for  a  child  whose  mythical 
abduction  by  a  red  man  was  the  creation  of  a  news- 
paper reporter.  I  hope  by  this  time  you  have  real- 
ized your  folly  in  flying  off — merely  from  impulse 
— to  do  a  noble  deed.  You  had  far  better  be  here 
to  try  and  cheer  Mrs.  Lane.  Her  face  is  a  study 
in  its  combination  of  suffering  and  peace.  I  am 
not  surprised  that  you  loved  her  so  ardently.  She 
is  still  pretty,  but  must  have  been  a  beauty  in  her 
youth. 

"  The  world  is  indeed  small  after  all,  is  it  not  ? 

"  My  first  impulse  led  me  to  seek  these  ladies,  and 
introduce  myself  as  your  friend;  but  remembering 
your  wish  I  have  waited  for  chance — skillfully  helped 
— to  throw  me  into  their  society.  Do,  Bentone, 
hasten  to  Rome,  and  try  to  cheer  Mrs.  Lane.  I 
heard  last  night  from  a  lady  in  the  hotel  that 
Miss  Baxter  has  done  everything  in  her  power, 
backed  by  a  fortune,  to  find  the  whereabouts  of 
Mrs.  Lane's  son,  whom,  it  seems,  she  has  made  her 
legal  heir.  The  two  women  have  now  reluctantly 
settled  to  the  belief  that  the  boy  is  dead — suc- 
cumbed to  the  hardships  of  a  cruel  life.  My  in- 
formant says  that  Miss  Albina  is  as  much  crushed 
by  the  loss  as  the  mother,  but  being  unselfish,  she 
thinks  more  of  the  happiness  of  others  than  of  her 


THE    RED    MOON    GOES    DOWN      135 

own.  She  is  traveling,  with  Mrs.  Lane  as  her 
guest,  trying  by  every  means  to  soothe  the  mother's 
heartache  over  the  disappearance  of  her  only  child. 
I  am  told  that  Miss  Baxter  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable women  of  the  century,  well  read,  and 
highly  cultured,  with  a  sweet,  gentle  manner  that 
wins  everyone  with  whom  she  comes  in  contact. 
You  know  women  are  apt  to  tell  all  the  gossip  they 
hear  in  a  hotel,  hence  the  sad  story  of  Miss  Albina 
is  no  secret.  It  seems  she  was  engaged  to  a  man 
whose  first  name  was  the  same  as  yours ;  he  was 
lost  at  sea,  many  years  ago,  as  the  ship  neared  the 
port  of  New  York.  Instead  of  rushing  into  the 
vortex  of  society  for  diversion,  this  heiress  dedi- 
cated her  life,  and  money,  to  the  amelioration  of 
suffering.  They  say  her  cup  of  sorrow  has  been 
filled  to  the  brim.  Strange,  that  trials  were  pre- 
dicted for  her  while  she  rested,  an  innocent  baby,  in 
her  cradle.  I  am  told  an  Indian  squaw  muttered 
these  words :  '  Baby  moon  rise  like  blood.  Baby 
bend  with  trouble  seven  times.  Baby  no  break. 
Baby  sun  go  down  in  gold,  bright  like  day.'  My 
informant  says  the  seventh  trial  overtook  Miss  Bax- 
ter during  her  voyage,  when  her  mother  died  sud- 
denly. By  the  daughter's  wish,  in  the  soft  evening 
light,  as  the  sun  sank  behind  the  horizon,  looking 
like  a  great  red  ball  of  fire,  her  mother's  body  was 
committed  to  the  sea.  Below  the  waves,  on  opal- 


136  THE    RED    MOON 

tinted  couches,  her  lover  and  mother  now  rest  where 
no  rough  winds  will  ever  disturb  their  long  sleep. 

"  People  are  wondering  if  Miss  Albina  will  marry, 
and  fulfil  the  end  of  the  prophecy  with  some  other 
lover,  for  old  maids  are  not  likely  to  have  a  glo- 
riously bright  sunset.  Bentone,  you  will  laugh 
when  I  confess  to  a  curious  quivering  of  my  heart 
when  I'm  in  Miss  Albina's  company:  a  sensation  I 
fail  to  analyze.  It  cannot  be  love,  for  I  came 
abroad  to  overcome  my  love  for  a  girl  my  mother 
disapproved  of  my  marrying.  I  still  love  her,  but 
as  mother  is  dead,  I  feel  morally  bound  to  respect 
her  wish. 

"  What  is  love,  anyway  ?  Is  an  affinity  for  an- 
other the  same  as  true  love?  Give  your  definition 
in  your  next  letter.  I  advise  you  to  take  an  early 
eastward-bound  ship  and  join  me  in  Rome.  Mrs. 
Lane  needs  you  to  cheer  her  lonely  heart.  Hoping 
to  welcome  you,  I  am  your  true  friend, 

"  RICHARD." 

Bentone  is  stirred  to  the  depths  of  his  heart  by 
this  letter.  With  definite  news  of  his  beloved  Jessie, 
he  makes  hasty  preparation  for  his  journey  to  New 
York,  saying,  "  I  must  seek  Jessie.  If  I  lose  sight 
of  her,  I  may  never  have  a  chance  to  renew  my  love- 
making." 

In  Chicago  he  hears  that  Miss  Albina  Baxter  is 


THE    RED    MOON    GOES    DOWN      137 

to  address  a  large  meeting  of  "  Woman's  Christian 
Temperance  Union  "  workers  early  in  May.  Jessie 
will  of  course  be  with  her;  and  he  almost  decides  to 
remain  in  the  magic  city  until  their  arrival. 

March  winds  are  scurrying  around  the  street 
corners,  and  to  his  excited  mind  the  month  of  May 
is  a  long  way  off.  He  boards  an  express  train  for 
New  York,  uncertain  whether  or  not  he  will  go  to 
Europe.  Walli.s  Bee  Lane  is  still  his  constant  com- 
panion, and  is  making  good  progress  in  his  studies. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

AT    THE   DOCKS 

"  Thine  eyes  are  stars  to  hold  me 
To  love's  pure  rapturous  height; 
Thy  thoughts  are  pearls  to  lead  me 
To  truth  beyond  earth's  sight; 
Thy  love  is  life  to  keep  me 
Forever  in  God's  light." 

ELIZABETH  PORTER  GOULD. 

THE  steamer  Mary  Powell,  plying  on  the  Hudson 
River  between  New  York  and  Kingston,  stops  at 
her  dock  at  Nyack. 

A  gentleman,  a  boy,  and  a  dog  land.  With 
quick  steps  they  hurry  up  Elm  Avenue.  The  man's 
face  is  bronzed,  and  he  appears  to  be  very  nervous 
as  he  whistles  a  low  tune.  The  muscular  lad  halts 
now  and  then  to  spell  the  letters  on  brass  door- 
plates.  Again,  he  dashes  forward  with  his  dog  in 
chase  of  twittering  sparrows. 

It  is  a  delicious  spring  morning,  musical  with 
the  songs  of  birds,  singing  their  love  songs  among 
the  bursting  buds.  There  is  still  a  crispness  in  the 
air,  but  the  backbone  of  winter  is  broken.  A  pair 

138 


AT    THE    DOCKS  139 

of  robins,  just  arrived  from  the  South,  hold  sweet 
counsel,  as  to  where  they  shall  build  their  nest. 

Reaching  number  eighteen,  the  man  hesitates, 
for  his  courage  fails  him,  and  he  stands  looking  at 
the  white  marble  steps,  immaculate  from  the  house 
maid's  careful  cleaning.  He  passes  his  handker- 
chief over  his  brow,  evidently  to  gain  a  moment's 
respite ;  then  he  climbs  the  steps  and  reaches  to 
lift  the  old  bronze  knocker.  There  is  a  visible 
tremor  in  his  hand,  and  he  counts,  unconsciously, 
the  black  spots  made  by  Nero's  paws  on  the  snowy 
marble. 

His  young  companion  notices  this  hesitation,  and 
with  the  spring  of  an  athlete  he  seizes  the  knocker 
and  gives  three  loud  knocks,  quick,  firm,  such  as  a 
telegraph  boy  gives.  Both  mistress  and  maid  are 
startled  by  the  sound,  and  hurry  to  the  front  of 
the  house.  Mrs.  Thomas  dreads  to  have  news  of 
such  importance  as  to  be  sent  by  wire. 

The  door  opens,  Bentone's  quick  ear  hears  the 
rustle  of  silk,  and  he  enters  unceremoniously,  and 
throws  his  arms  around  his  aunt's  neck  before  she 
realizes  who  it  is. 

She   is   startled   and  amazed. 

"Aunt  Alice,  don't  you  know  me?  Wallis,  your 
roving  Wallis  from  the  West  ?  " 

She  makes  no  reply,  but  her  head  drops  heavily 
to  her  nephew's  shoulder,  and  tears  rise  and  fill  her 


140  THE    RED    MOON 

eyes.  Sad  memories  rush  to  mind  as  she  stands 
quite  still,  thinking  of  the  time  when  she  sat  watch- 
ing for  the  coming  of  this  nephew,  due  to  arrive 
from  Europe  in  company  with  his  cousin,  Alice  Grey. 
The  great  ship  came  not,  but  she  still  hopes  that 
she  may  have  news  of  her  niece. 

Mrs.  Thomas  wears  a  breakfast  cap  of  soft  white 
lace,  and  her  silver  curls  hang  loose  about  her 
cheeks.  Wallis  Bee  Lane  notices  this,  and  says 
timidly,  "  Ma-ma,  purty  white  hair."  Then  he  steps 
forward  and  puts  his  brown  hands  into  Mrs. 
Thomas's.  Her  maternal  love  is  strong,  and  this 
boy  is  someone's  son ;  she  quietly,  graciously  greets 
him,  with  a  questioning  look  toward  her  nephew. 
He  understands,  and  drawing  her  aside,  whispers : 
"  Aunt  Alice,  that  boy  is  my  dear  Jessie's  long-lost 
son.  Before  going  West  I  told  you  of  her  marry- 
ing Jubal  Lane,  thinking  I  was  drowned  at  sea. 
Jubal  Lane  proved  to  be  a  worthless  fellow,  but 
this  is  Jessie's  child,  and  I  risked  my  life  to  rescue 
him  from  a  tribe  of  Chicopee  Indians.  Sometime 
I  will  tell  you  my  experiences." 

Mrs.  Thomas  leads  the  way  to  the  wing  of  the 
house,  where,  in  a  glass  aviary,  she  keeps  the 
younglings  from  a  pair  of  canaries,  pets  of  her 
niece,  Alice  Grey.  The  old  home  at  eighteen  Elm 
Avenue  for  long  has  been  in  the  Thomas  family. 
Heavy  shadows  fall  aslant  from  the  stately  old 


AT    THE    DOCKS  141 

elms  on  to  a  carpet  of  grass  as  soft  as  an  Oriental 
rug.  And  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  house, 
Wallis  Bee  Lane  finds  a  large  steel  hoop,  once  the 
plaything  of  Alice  Grey.  He  sends  it  whirling 
around  the  garden,  his  face  radiant  with  delight. 
In  due  course  a  letter  comes  from  Richard  McKellar 
with  the  welcome  news  that  he  is  to  sail  on  the 
Russia,  and  that  he  will  have  Miss  Baxter  and 
Mrs.  Lane  under  his  care. 

As  the  days  come  and  go,  Bentone  grows  impa- 
tient for  the  arrival  of  the  Russia.  To-morrow — 
yes,  to-morrow — the  ship  is  due  to  land  her  pas- 
sengers in  New  York.  He  counts  the  chimes  of  the 
village  clock  the  night  through.  The  hours  seem 
interminable. 

In  the  clear  light  of  a  gloriously  bright  May 
morning  Wallis  Bentone  secretes  himself  in  a  corner 
of  the  New  York  dock,  and  watches  the  passengers 
of  the  Russia  go  down  the  gangplank.  "  There  she 
is."  With  difficulty  he  restrains  his  impulse  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Lane,  in  spite  of  his  resolve  not  to 
meet  her  in  public.  With  a  loving,  hungry  gaze 
he  watches  as  Richard  assists  his  friends  to  a  car- 
riage, and  then  he  turns  to  greet  Richard. 

The  college  chums  have  a  happy  meeting  time, 
and  by  Mrs.  Thomas's  invitation  Richard  goes  to 
Nyack  for  the  night. 

In  bed,  the  curtains  looped  back,  the  two  friends 


THE    RED    MOON 

talk  of  their  trials  and  disappointments,  their  pleas- 
ures and  prospects  for  the  future.  Although  full 
of  new  hope,  Bentone  says,  "  Richard,  I'm  a  wreck, 
a  mere  wanderer  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  Oh, 
yes,  a  skilful  Nimrod,  I'll  admit.  Once  I  planned 
to  settle  down  with  happiness  as  the  keystone  and 
climax  of  my  ambition,  with  Jessie  Lea  for  my  wife. 
But  a  scoundrel  intervened  and  cut  me  out.  I  have 
rained  curses  upon  the  man,  Jubal  Lane,  who  sat 
like  a  stoic  while  I  bade  my  Jessie — his  wife — good- 
bye." Bentone's  blood  runs  quicker  at  the  very  rec- 
ollection, and  he  sits  bolt  upright.  "  The  rascal 
has  gone  to  his  just  reward — he's  gone  to  hell.  He 
deserves  his  doom  for  deceiving  Jessie." 

Then  he  throws  himself  back  on  his  pillow,  and 
says: 

"  Dick,  I  tried  to  drown  my  disappointment  in 
the  wilderness  and  threw  away  my  chances  for  a 
profitable  career.  Fate  held  me.  Then  suddenly, 
one  night  a  hidden  force  enveloped  me,  seized  me, 
gripped  me  firmly  and  led  me  as  a  blind  man  to- 
ward a  goal  that  may  yet  be  Paradise.  A  strange 
desire  filled  my  heart  and  urged  me  to  undertake 
that  *  wild-goose  chase.'  You  know  the  outcome — 
the  finding  of  Jessie's  son." 

Richard,  too,  is  nervous.  "  Stop  moralizing, 
Bentone;  think  of  coming  joy,  not  of  past  trials, 
or  blasted  hopes.  Forget  Mrs.  Lane's  unfortunate 


AT    THE    DOCKS  143 

marriage.  You  have  another  chance  to  win  her. 
She  is  not  young,  but  her  smile  is  sweet  and  indica- 
tive of  a  true  woman.  You  may  yet  enjoy  your 
dream  of  happiness.  Compare  your  lot  with  my 
own.  I  must  either  dishonor  my  precious  mother's 
memory,  or  give  up  my  sweetheart.  I  am  virtually 
without  a  ray  of  hope  for  the  future,  and  I  return 
to  a  desolate  home,  where  I  shall  miss  my  mother." 

Richard  tosses  his  pillow  to  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
stretches  himself,  and  lies  stiff  and  still.  He  essays 
to  master  his  tongue,  to  smother  a  strong  impulse 
to  tell  Bentone  of  his  growing  interest  in  the  heir- 
ess, Miss  Baxter.  The  .seventh  trial  has  failed  to 
break  her  brave  spirit,  the  red  moon  of  her  destiny 
has  gone  below  the  horizon,  now  why  can  he  not 
help  to  bring  about  the  bright  sunset  predicted  by 
the  Indian  squaw? 

Bentone  is  bubbling  over  with  excitement.  His 
thoughts  are  strangely  commingled  with  the  facts 
of  the  past  and  hopes  for  the  future. 

"  Richard,  I  gave  Jessie  up,  never  expecting  to 
see  her  again." 

"  All  right,  friend,  but  do  recall  that  you  are 
soon  to  be  fully  repaid  for  your  pain,  your  manly 
heroism." 

"  Heroism ! "  and  Bentone  laughs  a  bitter  laugh. 
"  Heroism !  It  was  anything  but  heroism.  It  was 
merely  the  cringing  of  my  soul  in  face  of  a  woman's 


144  THE    RED    MOON 

suffering,  a  woman  I  adored,  and  whose  eyes 
pleaded  for  peace.  I  tell  you,  Dick,  but  for  Jessie's 
silent  appeal  the  day  I  told  her  good-bye,  I  would 
to-night  be  lying  in  a  murderer's  grave.  I  went 
West  rather  than  be  a  witness  of  my  darling's  suf- 
fering." 

Softly  he  whistles  the  tune  to  old  "  John  Brown," 
that  is  in  the  mouth  of  every  street  boy  in  New 
York.  Only  for  John  Brown's  name  he  substitutes 
that  of  Jubal  Lane. 

On  the  brink  of  his  happiness  he  is  swept  with 
a  medley  of  emotions.  One  moment  he  glows  with 
expectant  joy,  the  next,  the  shadow  of  doubt  ob- 
scures the  last  lingering  ray  of  hope.  For  conso- 
lation and  strength  he  turns  to  his  friend.  It  is 
so  much  more  comforting  than  the  companionship 
of  Nero,  now  asleep  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Richard,  dare  I  hope  to  call  Jessie  my  wife? 
What  are  my  chances  ?  Tell  me  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  They  are  fine,  without  a  shadow  of  doubt.  Re- 
member, you  bring  her  boy  back,  and  your  reward 
will  surely  come." 

And  Bentone,  with  this  sweet  hope  in  his  heart, 
falls  asleep. 

And  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  at  Twenty-third 
Street,  two  ladies,  weary  from  a  sea  voyage,  are 
unconscious  of  the  happiness  in  store  for  them. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE   REUNION 

"  Ah,  me !  it  was  he  that  won  her 
Because  he  dared  to  climb." 

T.  B.  ALDRICH. 

RICHARD  MCKELLAR  is  the  bearer  of  the  follow- 
ing note  to  Mrs.  Lane: 

"  NYACK-ON-HUDSON. 
"  DEAR  MRS.  LANE  : 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  arrived  in 
New  York.  When  you  and  Miss  Baxter  are  rested 
from  your  long  and  very  rough  voyage,  will  you 
both  come  and  spend  a  few  days  with  me? 

"  I  hope  you  were  able  to  find  the  photograph 
duplicates  of  those  my  dear  Alice  Grey  had  bought 
for  her  aunt.  A  friend  in  New  York  gave  you  the 
list,  and  I  should  be  so  pleased  to  have  them  from 
your  own  hands. 

"  Mr.  Richard  McKellar,  of  Chicago,  who  is  my 
guest,  will  meet  you  at  the  dock  with  my  carriage, 
any  day  you  name.  Could  you  come  to-morrow 
by  the  five  o'clock  boat? 

145 


146  THE    RED    MOON 

"  Do  excuse  my  not  driving  down ;  I  am  quite 
feeble.  Sorrow  has  bowed  me;  nevertheless  God  is 
good  to  me.  You,  too,  have  suffered,  but  being 
still  young  you  can  look  forward  to  renewed  hap- 
piness. Hoping,  then,  to  see  you  soon, 
"  I  am  yours  cordially, 

"  ALICE  THOMAS." 

With  a  touch  of  pathos  in  her  voice,  Mrs.  Lane 
reads  this  letter  aloud  to  Albina. 

"Will  you  accept?  I'm  sure  it  will  tax  you  to 
meet  Alice  Grey's  aunt,  but  do  go,  for  it  will  cheer 
Mrs.  Thomas  to  be  in  your  sweet  presence."  Then 
she  places  her  arms  about  the  woman  who  has  been 
all  the  world  to  her. 

Putting  aside  her  own  feelings,  Albina  replies: 
"  Yes,  certainly  we  will  go."  A  keen  observer 
might  have  detected  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  and 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  Richard  McKellar  drives 
to  the  boat  landing  in  the  little  village  of  Nyack 
to  meet  the  visitors. 

Bentone  shuts  himself  in  the  library  with  the  boy 
Wallis.  He  attempts  to  teach  him  the  game  of 
battledoor  and  shuttlecock;  but  this  taxes  him, 
then  he  builds  a  tower  with  cards,  but  his  hand 
quivers  and  the  paper  palace  collapses.  He  turns 
listlessly  the  pages  of  a  colored  picture  book. 


THE    REUNION  147 

Though  strong  and  valiant  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, to-day  he  is  as  nervous  as  a  woman.  He 
has  repeatedly  pictured  the  scene  of  Jessie  receiving 
her  lost  boy,  but  as  the  hour  draws  near,  the 
thought  unnerves  him.  He  is  still  wondering  if  the 
love  of  Jessie,  once  wholly  his,  will  again  answer 
to  the  quick  throbs  of  his  own  heart  ?  "  That  love 
that  will  reinvigorate  my  whole  life,"  he  says  to 
himself,  "  and  enable  me  to  settle  down  to  manly 
work." 

In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts,  the  boy  at  his 
side  startles  him.  His  quick  ear  has  caught  the 
sound  of  carriage  wheels  on  the  driveway,  and  he 
springs  to  his  feet,  and  tries  to  go  and  greet  Mr. 
McKellar's  return. 

Bentone  restrains  him.  Only  a  thin  partition 
now  separates  him  from  the  woman  he  idolizes,  and 
yet  he  must  wait. 

Mrs.  Lane  and  Miss  Albina,  having  thrown  off 
their  wraps,  and  composed  themselves  after  meet- 
ing Mrs.  Thomas,  sit  in  the  oak-trimmed  drawing- 
room,  watching  the  play  of  color  as  the  evening 
sun  gleams  between  the  branches  of  the  stately  elms 
in  the  yard. 

Mrs.  Thomas  excuses  herself  for  a  few  moments. 
She  enters  the  library  with  her  eyes  still  moist,  yet 
her  manner  shows  the  equanimity  of  a  well-bred 
woman. 


148  THE    RED    MOON 

Bentone  places  his  arms  about  her  feeble  form  to 
support  her.  Her  voice  trembles.  "  My  dear  Wal- 
lis,  may  God  bless  and  reward  you  fully  for  each 
trial,  each  danger  you  have  endured." 

Then,  with  Wallis  Bee  clinging  to  her  motherly 
hand,  she  leads  the  way  to  the  drawing-room. 

With  a  startled  cry,  Mrs.  Lane  rushes  forward, 
for  she  recognizes  the  sunburnt  faces  of  the  two  in 
the  world  nearest  her  heart. 

Mrs.  Thomas  can  barely  articulate,  so  deep  is 
her  emotion. 

"Mrs.  Lane,  God  is  indeed  good  to  restore  to 
you  your  precious  child." 

Albina  utters  not  a  word.  There  are  emotions  of 
the  heart  deeper  than  words  can  express.  Let  the 
curtain  fall  in  front  of  a  scene  too  touching  and 
sacred  for  portrayal. 

Over  the  village  of  Nyack  rests  an  unusual  quiet ; 
no  jarring  notes  mar  the  sweet  harmony  of  a  re- 
union in  the  quaint  old  homestead  beneath  the  an- 
cient elms,  and,  outside,  one  by  one,  the  little  birds 
tuck  their  heads  under  their  wings  and  go  to  sleep 
in  the  branches. 

From  a  distance  comes  the  soft  notes  of  a  flute 
playing  "  Long,  long  ago,"  while  in  a  little  cottage 
near  by  a  mother  tries  to  lull  her  baby  to  sleep. 
Her  voice  rises  and  falls  like  the  voice  of  one 


THE    REUNION  149 

physically  weak,   as   she   chants,   over  and  over,   a 
familiar  child's  lullaby: 

"  Bye  baby  bunting, 
Papa's  gone  a-hunting 
To  get  a  little  rabbit  skin 
To  wrap  the  baby  bunting  in." 

Richard  and  Albina  stand  at  the  western  window 
listening  to  the  plaintive  song  of  the  woman  of  toil. 
Albina  is  formulating  plans  for  the  morrow  to  sup- 
ply this  mother's  needs.  The  golden  light  of  a 
brilliant  sunset  envelopes  her  sombre  form  and  casts 
a  glow  over  her  face,  radiant  with  the  joy  of  the 
reunion  of  Mrs.  Lane  and  her  son. 

Richard's  heart  beats  quick  and  fast  with  a  sen- 
sation he  makes  no  effort  to  analyze,  but  he  recalls 
the  singular  prophecy  of  the  Indian  squaw  about 
the  glorious  sunset  that  is  to  be  Albina's  heritage. 

Jessie  Lane  sits  on  the  sofa  with  one  hand  encir- 
cling her  boy,  the  other  covered  by  a  brown  and 
powerful  palm.  The  child  is  toying  with  her  snow- 
white  hair.  "  This  is  my  Ma-ma."  He  jumps  to 
his  feet,  and  rushing  into  Albina's  open  arms,  says, 
"  Aunty,  oh,  aunty,  where  is  granny?  " 

Tears  are  in  Albina's  eyes  as  she  points  to  the 
brilliant  sunset.  "  God  has  granny  in  his  safe- 
keeping up  yonder  in  the  beautiful  heaven." 

Stepping   to    where    Mrs.    Lane    sits,    she    says, 


150  THE    RED    MOON 

"  Mother  is  happy ;  she  knows  our  boy  is  safe,  and 
this  bright  sunset  is  the  reflection  of  her  smile." 

Deeply  touched,  Richard  McKellar  stands  a  si- 
lent witness  of  his  friend's  happiness. 

Months  after  this,  Richard  has  a  letter  from  his 
former  classmate. 

"  18  ELM  AVENUE,  NYACK. 
"  MY  DEAR  RICHARD  : 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  know  that  in  a  few  weeks 
I  am  to  marry  my  dear  Jessie,  the  only  woman  I 
ever  loved.  I  tell  you,  first  love  is  not  to  be  dupli- 
cated. I'm  still  on  my  knees  at  the  shrine  of  Jes- 
sie's heart.  We  are  to  be  married  November  six- 
teenth, after  which  we  go  for  a  ten-days'  visit  to 
relatives  in  Norfolk,  Virginia.  Miss  Albina  is  to 
join  us  in  New  York,  and  go  to  Boston,  and  Port- 
land, Maine.  We  are  deciding  upon  a  school  in 
which  to  place  '  our  boy.'  Wallis  Bee  is  rich  in 
friends.  He  is  Miss  Albina's  legal  heir,  and  Aunt 
Alice  talks  of  leaving  him  a  .snug  little  sum  of 
money.  She  is  so  much  amused  with  the  curious 
games  he  learned  when  with  the  Indians.  Best  of 
all,  she  delights  to  see  him  running  beside  cousin 
Alice's  big  steel  hoop.  He  always  .spends  Sunday 
here. 

"  My  precious  little  Jessie  is  wondering  if  she 
dare  promise  to  obey,  she  has  been  her  own  mistress 


THE    REUNION  151 

so  long.  I  say,  Hang  the  word  '  obey  ' !  I'm  willing 
myself  to  promise  to  obey,  if  Jessie  be  the  one  to 
give  the  command.  She  insists  I'm  not  fit  to  be  a 
husband  until  my  egotism  is  humbled  by  my  re- 
fusals at  the  hand  of  seven  women.  Well,  as  Jessie 
is  my  first  and  only  love,  I  need  six  others  to  per- 
fect me.  My  one  trial  is  far  worse  than  the  '  no  ' 
of  a  hundred  fair  maids.  Indeed,  I'm  going  to  do 
my  best  to  make  Jessie  happy.  In  reality  my  life 
is  just  beginning,  for  Jubal  Lane  upset  all  my 
plans.  I  suppose  I  am  a  cad  to  cuss  him  occa- 
sionally, but  can  you  blame  me,  Dick?  It  does  a 
fellow  good  sometimes  to  express  his  feelings  with- 
out gloss  or  varnish.  I'll  say  this  much  for  my 
Jessie:  she  never  allows  me  to  give  vent  in  her 
presence.  She  puts  her  little  hand  on  mine  and 
says,  '  Wallis,  remember  he  is  the  father  of  my  son.' 

"  You  may  be  sure,  Dick,  I'm  as  dumb  as  an 
oyster  then. 

"  Now,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  word  of  advice. 
Why  don't  you  follow  my  example  and  get  you  a 
wife? — not  a  *  Boston  blue-stocking,'  who  might  in- 
deed be  an  inspiration  to  a  man  of  letters  like 
yourself,  but  a  gentle,  loving  woman — the  sort  you 
can  cuddle  in  your  arms.  I  tell  you,  Dick,  learn- 
ing and  brain  power  won't  count  over  against  such 
a  woman.  Jessie  thinks  Miss  Albina  will  never 
marry — that  she  will  never  get  over  her  grief  at 


152  THE    RED    MOON 

the  loss  of  her  lover  on  the  ill-fated  Dorogan;  but 
in  my  own  mind  I  believe  she  will.  You  two  would 
make  a  fine  couple. 

"  This  letter  is  as  long  and  wordy  as  a  woman's, 
and  you  will  laugh  at  it,  I  know.  You  will  think, 
*  Such  a  letter  from  a  man  who  has  slept  in  the 
forest  with  only  a  dog  for  companionship,  who  has 
stolen  up  to  Indian  campfires,  and  more  than  once 
taken  his  life  in  his  hands ! '  The  truth  is,  I'm  so 
happy  I  believe  I  could  jump  over  the  moon,  for 
very  joy.  Good-bye,  Dick. 

"  I  hope  a  bright  sunset  will  encircle  you  and 
your  future  wife,  just  such  a  brilliant  one  as  .seems 
now  to  surround  the  life  of  your  happy  college 
chum,  WALLIS  B.  BENTONE." 

(In  "  The  Yellow  Star,"  the  sequel  to  this  book, 
the  prophecy  over  Albina's  cradle  will  be  fulfilled.) 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  043  650 


